


Secrets

by daoinhe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Betrayal, Cannibalism, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Past Child Abuse, Patricide, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Psychological Horror, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoinhe/pseuds/daoinhe
Summary: On a base of mercenaries, who best to tell your secrets to?  The one member of the team that no one else can understand!  A little slice of life tale about Pyro's ability to keep a secret.  Warning: Some secrets are darker than others...





	1. Medic

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Medic was frustrated. His foot rode heavy on the gas pedal of the dusty old sedan he was driving, his lip between his teeth as he sped along the curving road to town. All he’d wanted was one day to himself. But no, that was not allowable. All his teammates were either busy or irresponsible. He glanced over at the Pyro in the passenger seat, slumped down and staring moodily out the window. He had not wanted to bring the Pyro with him but everyone else had refused to watch the poor mad creature. Medic took a deep breath and let it out slowly, allowing his foot to ease off the gas pedal just a bit. The car was quiet as they sped along, Medic had turned off the radio as soon as he’d gotten in. He noticed a quiet rhythmic thumping that was getting louder slowly. Medic frowned, looking over at the Pyro. It was pounding its head against the glass of the passenger window, repeatedly. Medic sighed. 

“Stop that, Pyro.” He tried to calm his breathing again. “I am not in the mood for your theatrics.” His gaze was torn between the road and the Pyro who slumped down in its seat again. Medic nodded to himself. At least it was obedient. The rest of the trip was completed in silence. 

The dusty town of Teufort was small but one could order supplies and have them delivered to the town to be picked up at one’s convenience. Medic pulled into a space outside the general store and parked carefully, well within the painted lines on the pavement. He did not want to draw the attention of the police as his medical license wasn’t the only license to be revoked. He sighed and undid his seatbelt, then glanced over at the Pyro. 

“Well, come on…” He watched as the creature undid its seat belt. “Let’s get this over with, Herr Pyro.” He got out, made sure the Pyro was following, and walked into the store. As he approached the counter, he peripherally noted the many items for sale. The store was dark and crowded, the light spilling in from the two windows catching dust motes and making them glisten. He grabbed Pyro’s free hand and pulled him past as the thing started batting at the shiny dust motes with one gloved hand. 

“No, Pyro. Leave the dust. It’s dirty.” He tugged the Pyro up to the counter and stood it beside him, where he could monitor it from the corner of his eye. When the store’s proprietor approached, he greeted the man with a wide smile, not caring that it made him look like a psychopath. 

“Hello, Mein Freund. Have my orders arrived?”

The shop keeper nodded and rustled below the counter, pulling out three large boxes and sitting them on the counter. “Yep. You’ll just need to sign for them and they’re all yours.” Medic took the presented clipboard and pen and scrawled a signature on the bottom. It didn’t seem to matter whose signature he used, and he often changed them just to test the theory, but the man behind the counter didn’t even bother to check as he rang up the sale. 

Medic glanced over at Pyro who was eying the candy jars on the end of the counter without moving. When it noticed him watching, it folded its hands together across its chest in a pleading gesture, tilting its head to the side, bird like. Medic sighed. 

“Fine, Pyro, since you have asked so nicely. You may have two pieces. Choose wisely.” Pyro hopped up and down for a moment, glee practically oozing from its body. It stood silently, staring at the bright jars, then pointed to the candy sticks. The man behind the counter took the lid off the jar of bright candies and cautiously extended it to Pyro. With a gleeful chuckle, it reached into the jar, pulling out a strawberry and a blueberry stick. 

Medic paid for the purchases, watching patiently as Pyro stowed the candy in its belt pouch and then grabbed two of the boxes and started for the door. Hefting the other box under his arm, Medic followed. If nothing else, he thought, watching Pyro’s short muscular form carry the boxes, he didn’t have to make two trips to carry things. He unlocked the sedan’s trunk, indicating to Pyro how he wanted the boxes placed. 

With the supplies safely stored in the back of the car, Medic started down the street to the next shop on his list, the Post Office. Pyro skipped along the sidewalk beside him, burbling happily in his mask and Medic felt some of his tension and angst begin to ease. The Pyro was a far cry from the surly Soldier or the drunken Demo, seeming to be happy just to be in town. Medic felt a smile trying to creep over his face as he watched the red suited little firebug skipping along. 

They stepped out of the hot sun into the Post Office and Medic dug in his bag for all the base mail, dropping it onto the counter and then asking if he’d received a package yet. The post mistress nodded, handing the large sealed envelope over the counter to him. Yet again, he signed, then placed the envelope inside his pouch and taking Pyro’s hand, tugged on it gently. 

“Come along, Pyro, it’s time for the best part of coming to town.” 

Pyro’s head tilted quizzically, and it looked at him, body language conveying puzzlement. It patted the pouch storing its candy. 

“No, Pyro, that is not the best part. Dinner is the best part, and since you have been so helpful and well behaved today, I shall buy you anything you wish. You would like that, yes?”

Pyro immediately started hopping up and down, squealing with glee. Medic sighed and shushed him, mindful of the odd looks they were getting from people passing by. 

“If you do not behave, Pyro, we will not eat. Do you understand?” Medic tried his best to look imposing. “I will not tolerate your ill manners in this restaurant.” Pyro visibly deflated. Medic sighed. “But I have no doubt that you will act appropriately, I feel it is only fair to warn you.” He felt a smile creep back onto his face as Pyro straightened its shoulders and saluted smartly. Medic could not stop the small chuckle. “There is a very nice German restaurant in town. I typically eat there when alone. Do you have any experience with German cuisine?” 

Pyro nodded, walking down the street beside Medic, and began to jabber behind the mask. Medic sighed. “I wish I could understand what you are saying, Mein Freund. I’m certain that it is highly entertaining. However, until you are comfortable enough to remove your mask, I’ll just have to guess.”

Pyro sighed, throwing it’s hands up into the air. “Rooo…” It looked at Medic. “Laaaaaa” Its hands began to gesture in an odd rolling motion. “DIN” The last syllable was short and harsh. 

Medic frowned, concentrating. “Rouladen?” 

Pyro clapped enthusiastically. 

“Your favorite dish is rouladen?” Medic laughed; he had finally deciphered something the Pyro said. Pyro took his hand and began to swing their arms back and forth as it marched smartly down the street. Medic could almost swear that it was humming to itself. He shook his head, the next thing you know, he would start to enjoy its company. 

The dinging of a small bell heralded their arrival at the restaurant. Medic barely glanced up, Pyro stopped completely, body blocking the doorway as its lens covered eyes found and focused on the bell. It reached a hand up slowly, grunting with frustration when it was unable to touch the bell. Medic sighed and, reaching upward, tinged the bell a second time, earning a giggle of approval from the mask. With a put-upon sigh that was mostly feigned, Medic turned to the Maître’ de who watched patiently from his podium near the restaurants entry. 

“Table for two.” Medic gestured at himself and Pyro, then glanced around. There were a handful of patrons inside the restaurant and with a start he realized that the BLU medic was dining alone in the back of the room. 

Seeing them, the BLU medic raised his hand in a tentative wave, then, dabbing at his lips with his napkin, asked if they would like to join him. Medic glanced around uncertainly. He would indeed enjoy the chance to speak with his direct opposite, and there did not seem to be anyone else associated with Mann Co. in the room. Medic nodded and stopped the maître de, explaining to him that they would be joining the gentleman in the corner. 

When they were seated and menus laid before them, Medic greeted his BLU counterpart with a smile and a handshake. 

“Hello, mein comrade, I am pleased to join you.” He glanced at the Pyro who was ignoring both men and concentrating on the menu. Suddenly it glanced up at them, then reached across the table, offering its hand to the BLU. With great hesitance, the other medic reached across the table and took the Pyro’s hand in his own, shaking it tentatively. Pyro burbled something happily at him then went back to the menu. 

BLU medic, otherwise known as Otto, glanced at RED Medic. “Well Hans, I was not expecting to meet you here, off the field, and in such company.”

Hans smiled. “The company has proven to be both charming and helpful today. I promised that I would buy dinner for our dear Pyro for all the help it has provided today.” His eyes slid to the red Pyro, still seemingly engrossed in its menu. “I do believe that I promised you Rouladen.” He pointed to the menu. “It is right here.” 

Pyro nodded briefly, then turned its masked face toward the Medic. It pointed at several other items on the menu as well. 

Medic nodded. “You would like the Spargel also? And the Schwarz Sauer?” Pyro nodded enthusiastically, lens briefly reflecting Medic’s face back at him. Medic sighed. “Do you know what these dishes are, Pyro? I will help you order if you wish.” 

Pyro’s entire body expressed irritation as it leaned away from Medic, one finger lightly tapping its choices on the menu. Medic sighed. “Very well.” He turned from the Pyro and motioned for the waiter, placing his and Pyro’s orders, then returning to his conversation with the BLU medic. Pyro sat at the table, hands in its lap, appearing lost in thought. Medic glanced at it occasionally, before continuing to speak in German with his table mate. 

//” Are you certain that thing cannot understand us? // Otto was still eying the Pyro with some distaste and obvious distrust. 

//” I am certain. I have spoken German around it multiple times and it has never shown any signs of understanding. I do not know what it’s native language is, if it’s something other than English, but it only seems to respond to commands in English.”//

// I don’t like it’s being here. You know that meeting with me is dangerous enough, without dragging teammates along, Hans. It’s not as if we get to converse that frequently anyway, and now you have this… this hanger on.”//

// I’m not going to continue apologizing, Otto. There was nothing to be done about it today. No one else would watch it, and it has indeed been very helpful to me. I do not think that our Pyro is quite the madman that yours seems to be. In fact, its company has been almost pleasant. // Medic sighed, one hand rubbing his forehead as he realized that he was defending the Pyro in much the same way he would a friend. // You are free to leave if you do not wish to be in our company. //

Otto shook his head. // No, my friend. I must admit that I am perhaps a bit jealous that our time together has been obtruded upon by the beast, but I would miss the food, the company, and the chance to speak our native tongue. I shall remain. //

The waitress chose that moment to return, laden with plates. She sorted out who got what, then checking that glasses were topped up, continued to circulate among the other customers. Pyro found itself suddenly under scrutiny by two pairs of icy blue eyes. It remembered what it’s Medic had said about behaving and uncurled its arm from around it’s plate. Unfolding the heavy linen napkin, it spread it carefully across its lap. It lifted it’s fork and knife, then looked down at them and at the clunky way it held them. With a sigh, Pyro glanced at the two medics who had turned their attention to their own meals. Sitting its silverware back down, Pyro put its hands under the table and pulled it’s gloves off. The medics stopped eating and chatting when it’s hands, clad in thin cotton gloves appeared again, deftly handling the silverware as it began to cut its food.

// It is not wearing gloves. // Otto paused for a moment. //Well, it is wearing gloves, but you know what I’m saying. // 

Hans nodded slowly. //It is also holding it’s fork in it’s left hand, tines down. //

The Pyro, now the center of attention, looked up at the medics. Laying its silverware down, it put both cotton clad hands over its mask, miming embarrassment. The medics looked at each other, then directed their attention back to their plates. They cast sidelong glances at the Pyro, watching as it cut its food, speared the bites on the tines of its forks and slipped the bites into the hole where it’s respirator should fit into the mask. The cap of the respirator lay on the table beside it’s plate. Gradually, the novelty wore off and the medics returned their attention to their conversation, leaving the Pyro to eat in peace.

When the pyro’s plate was empty, it placed its knife and fork across the plate, signaling to the staff that it was finished. Medic glanced over and noted this. 

“Would you like dessert, Herr Pyro?” He smiled as the Pyro clapped it’s cotton gloved hands in delight. 

“Shall I choose for you, or do you have a favorite?” Pyro pointed at Medic, indicating that it was his choice. Medic nodded and signaled the waitress over. She came at once, smiling at the tall handsome older man. “What can I do for you?” 

Medic indicated the Pyro. “I believe my friend here would like to try Bienenstich. Could you please bring it a serving?” 

The waitress returned a short time later with a plate and a dessert fork, the small cream filled cake taking center space. Pyro moaned delightedly as she set the plate down. Waiting for her to leave the table, it cut a small bite with the edge of its fork and tasted. Both medics smiled delightedly at the hum of sheer happiness the Pyro emitted. 

“It’s good, ja?” Otto commented as Pyro took another bite. 

Pyro nodded excitedly, left hand rising to cover its heart and fluttering up and down rapidly. Otto chuckled at the over emoting Pyro. “Ja, I feel the same way about Bienenstich.”

Hans looked across the table at his compatriot. //I would almost think that our Pyro is winning you over, Otto. //

Otto shrugged, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. //I’ve tasted the creatures flames a bit too often to ever trust it, but admittedly, at this moment it is… cute. // He smiled toward the Pyro. // Rather like a well-trained puppy, wouldn’t you say? // 

Hans nodded. // That it is. I was not expecting it to have a grasp of etiquette, but it does seem to be handling dinner rather well, don’t you think? //

Otto nodded. // I would not be opposed to it eating with us again. // 

Hans smiled and motioned for the check. He paid for their meal, then rose, looking to Pyro. “Gather your things, kind. It is time for us to return to our base.”

Pyro’s shoulders slumped for a moment, then it looked at the BLU medic. Pulling its heavy gloves back on, it rose and waited for him to stand. When he did, Pyro wrapped its arms around him and hugged tightly, head resting lightly on the BLU medic’s chest. Otto’s gaze flew to Hans, startled, then he wrapped his arms around the Pyro, patting it’s back comfortingly. Pyro released him and followed Hans outside. 

“Well, Herr Pyro, did you enjoy dinner?” Medic smiled indulgently as the red clad figure beside him capered along for a moment. “And you did seem to enjoy the company. Although I must admit, I was rather hesitant to introduce you to Otto, you seem to have won him over a bit.” He frowned slightly. “Now, though, we must go home.” 

Pyro’s shoulders slumped and he put both gloved fists under the lenses of his mask, pantomiming wiping tears. Medic patted him on the shoulder, then slipped an arm around him, frowning at the feeling of boniness beneath the suit. “Pyro, what have you been eating on base?”

Pyro shrugged, looking at the ground. His words were muffled, but the long string of syllables flowing from the mask ended on a high note and a retching sound. Medic looked at him, startled. “You are saying that you cannot cook? That you are eating whatever you can find and it’s terrible?” 

Pyro nodded. 

“Hmmmm….” Medic frowned. “There was a time when we shared dinner chores and had one home cooked meal per day. That has fallen to the wayside lately, leaving everyone to fend for themselves.” He smiled at Pyro. “Would you be willing to help me cook dinner one night per week?” 

Pyro nodded excitedly, then pointed further down the street to the grocery store, an excited flow of garbled words coming from behind the mask. 

“You would like to go shopping at the store?” 

Pyro skipped a few steps, then, taking Medic’s hand, tugged at it. Medic sighed and glanced at his watch. “I suppose we could buy the ingredients for one dish, but we cannot stay long. I am expected back on the base by nightfall.” 

Pyro ran ahead of Medic, grabbed a cart from the queue outside the doors and hopped up and down as it waited for Medic to catch up to it. It pushed through the doors with a flourish, randomly choosing an aisle to go down. Medic put a hand on Pyro’s shoulder, stopping it dead in its tracks. 

“I know that you are excited, kind, but you must slow down. You must plan a route through the store. This is like a battle, little one. If you do not have a plan, you will forget something. Do you understand?” 

Pyro dropped its head, shoulders sagged, and its entire body reflected misery. Medic sighed. “No, Kind. Do not be sad, we will do this together and you will learn.” Pyro chirped delightedly, its head coming back up and shoulders squaring. Medic placed his hands on the cart and guided it back to the store front. “First, we shall determine what we wish to prepare. Only then can we choose which ingredients we need. Could you go to the stand over there,” Medic pointed at a wire rack, “and bring me a copy of the sale paper?” 

Pyro darted toward the stand, coming back quickly with the paper and ignoring the stares of other shoppers. It flipped the paper open, making a questioning noise. Medic leaned over the cheaply printed circular with Pyro, pointed at several things and asking Pyro questions. At last they settled on a simple meal, pork chops and vegetables, and a dessert. 

Pyro skipped beside Medic to the meat counter at the back of the store and they ordered twenty pork chops, waiting patiently as the white coated man behind the counter cut and wrapped their order. He passed it over to Pyro, who gingerly placed the package neatly in the bottom of the cart. Medic sighed, wondering momentarily how he’d gotten himself into this. Then he turned the cart, leading Pyro down the aisles toward the dairy section. They bought butter, and a gallon of milk joined the other ingredients in the bottom of the cart. Pyro lingered over the dairy case, lens covered eyes lingering on something as Medic began to walk away. Medic turned back toward him. 

“Pyro, what are you looking at?” He left the cart and took the few steps back to Pyro’s side. Pyro pointed at a small bottle of chocolate milk. Medic glanced at Pyro, then back to the chocolate milk. “You want this?” He pointed at the milk. Pyro nodded. 

Medic frowned. “You know that too many sweets are bad for you.”

Pyro pointed at the bottle, finger underlining the word MILK. The gloved finger tapped on it twice. It turned to Medic, hands clasping under its chin, head tilted to the side. Its entire body posture was pleading. 

Medic sighed and reached for the bottle, handing it to Pyro who immediately clasped it close to its chest, chortling. 

Medic frowned at Pyro. “Do not expect to be spoiled like this every time we shop, Pyro. And if you do not behave while here, we shall return the milk. Do you understand?”

Pyro clasped the milk tighter for a moment, holding the bottle to its masked cheek and nuzzling it. Slowly it placed the milk into the cart. The rest of the shopping went quickly, potatoes and broccoli being added to the cart, Pyro carried the broccoli pinched between thumb and forefinger, treating it like a dangerous substance. Medic explained to Pyro that he must eat the broccoli when it was cooked, and Pyro groaned but did not protest. 

As they loaded the groceries into the car, Medic hummed a tune under his breath. He glanced up in surprise as Pyro began to hum along. He was not expecting the firebug to be familiar with Chopin. They got into the car and Medic turned on the radio, his good mood allowing him to make some concessions for the comfort of his passenger. After making certain that the Pyro was wearing it’s seatbelt, He drove sedately toward the base. The desert sky slowly turned orange and pink in the west, the sun falling behind low foothills of stone and sand. 

Halfway to base, he had a sudden thought. What if the Pyro told someone about his meetings with Otto? He frowned, torn between warning Pyro to be silent about where they had been or not saying anything. He turned the problem over in his mind, debating internally. Finally, he shrugged. Even if Pyro did mention their dinner guest, no one would understand what it was saying. Smiling in satisfaction, feeling that his secret was safe, he reached over and patted the sleeping Pyro’s hand. Considering how he’d started the day, he was content.


	2. Demo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...
> 
> The language is Scots Gaelic...
> 
> claidheamh taibhse ghost sword  
a sheòid valiant warrior  
a bhobain my darling, rascal  
A bheil thu a' tuigsinn do you understand?  
Ceann-bliadhna bàis death anniversary  
mo laochain my little hero  
clann bheag little children  
clatty bassa dirty bastard  
gaisgeach warrior
> 
> Dean Bà mo Leanabh
> 
> Sleep my baby, sleep my dear  
Very early in the morning you opened your eyes  
When the birds in the trees were warbling and singing  
You were crawling on the floor, wearing out your knees
> 
> The most beautiful flowers that grow in the fields  
The buttercup and the daisy, round and golden yellow  
The bog-cotton on the moor and the primroses in the wood  
Have all closed their eyes before darkness falls
> 
> Now, you go to sleep, my little darling  
And may God guide you in all you do  
It is my desire that you, dear, may grow  
Like a branch that produces twice the blossom of other branches
> 
> http://www.kistodreams.org/bbmoleanabhbeag.asp

Pyro climbed up three flights of dark, dingy concrete stairs, oblivious to the cobwebs that were collecting on the rough exterior of its suit. Finally, it opened a door and stepped out onto the roof of the base. The sun would be setting soon, and its goal was to watch the vivid colors from up here. Pyro sighed in contentment. No one else seemed to be around. A few years ago, Demo and Soldier had dragged a couch up here, and some tables. Sometimes the rest of the team liked to sit here and drink, or just think. 

Pyro tilted its head to the side, there was a very faint, muffled sound coming from somewhere behind the housings for the huge fans that cooled the base. It made its way cautiously around the corner of one and stopped in surprise. Demo was sitting on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling over empty space, with one hand over his mouth and the other over his good eye. Pyro paused. If Demo fell, respawn would catch him, but that didn’t mean he would be any less pissed off. Pyro took a slow step forward, making sure to scuff its boot on the rooftop, and cleared its throat. 

Demo uncovered his face and glanced behind him. He sighed deeply. “Hi, lad… Lass… Whatever…” He glanced down at his dangling feet. “Ah don’t mean to offend ye, but I never know what to call ya.” 

Pyro read the man’s mood in the slope of his shoulders, the way he held himself close, guarded, his entire body screaming of wretchedness. It approached slowly and gestured to the roof beside him

“Aye, help yourself, then…” Demo patted the roof beside him in invitation. “Sit… Come laugh at the one eyed, crying drunkard.”

Pyro put both hands to its mouth, feigning horror and shook its head. 

Demo shook out his mop of dark curls and adjusted the rag he had tied around them. “Come on, a bhobain, ye know you want ta laugh.” His hand smoothed his kilt over his knees, and he leaned over dangerously far, pulling up his socks. “Tha bloody great fool of a demoman, barely able to do his job for the Scrumpy.” He leaned back and glanced over at Pyro. “It’s alright, I’ll no be angry aboot it.”

Pyro looked around pointedly, then mimed drinking. He shrugged in puzzlement. 

Demo nodded. “Aye, I’m sober, a bhobain. No drinking for me today. It’s an auspicious day, you know.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Not a day for drinking. Today is my Da’s ceann-bliadhna bàis.” He sighed again and a tear trickled down his stubble strewn cheek. 

Pyro reached over and wiped at the tear, catching it on a gloved forefinger and holding it up to the sunset light. The tear glistened for a moment, a tiny golden globe of trembling saltwater before trickling down its hand. Pyro and Demo both stared at the trail it left in the soot of Pyro’s gloved palm. 

“Don’t worry aboot it, a bhobain. There are plenty more where that one came from.” He wrapped an arm around Pyro’s shoulders. “I’ll give ye all the tears ye want if ye just sit here for a while.” 

Pyro nodded and leaned into Demo’s side, one gloved hand coming up to pat the arm that was wrapped around him. Pyro mumbled something through the mask and Demo cast a sidelong glance at the little red clad figure. “If ye’re telling me it’ll be ok, don’t. There’s no changing it, and even if there was, I dinnat know if it would matter at this point.”

He patted the Pyro’s shoulder. “A bheil thu a' tuigsinn? O’ course you don’t understand…” He glanced down at the little Pyro. “How could ye? You know nothin’ aboot it No one here knows aboot it.”

Pyro pointed at the clouds, the sun was setting in a blaze of orange and crimson glory. It murmured softly to the Demo, then stood up and reached out a hand to the larger man. Demo took its hand finally, face twitching in shock when the Pyro pulled him to his feet with one heave. Pyro held up its suit covered arm, mimicking Scout’s flexing and posturing. A fleeting smile crossed Demo’s face. 

Demo pointed to the ratty couch sitting in the middle of the roof. “Ya wanna come sit with me, a bhobain?” He walked over to the couch and sank into the cushions, head leaning back. Pyro stood silent for a moment, debating. At last, Demo opened his one eye and sighed. “Come on, I won’t bite. I promise.” He patted the cushions. “Hell, I’ll tell ye a story. With Fairies and Handsome Princes and magical swords. Join me.”

Pyro clapped its hands at the promise of a story and skipped over to sit beside Demo. It curled up on the couch beside him and watched through smoky lenses as Demo reached into a bucket of ice he’d hauled up in case of company. He fished around for a moment and then pulled out a long neck brown bottle of beer and, popping the top, handed it to Pyro. Pyro reached into his pouch and pulled out the metal straw Engie had made him ages ago. Sticking it into the beer, he sipped. Pyro let out an appreciative sigh and said something garbled. 

“Oh, you like the beer do ye?” Demo’s eye crinkled as he smiled briefly. “Just dinnae be telling Medic where ye got it from, ye hear?” He leaned his head back and closed his eye. “Now, I’d best be giving ye the story I promised.”

Pyro took another long sip of beer and leaned his head back as well, imitating Demo’s relaxed posture.

“Once upon a time, there was a family, a father, a mother, and a wee bairn named Tavish. They lived in a lovely green land called Scotland, on the edge of a lough. They lived in a huge castle that had been in their family for ages and ages. Tavish was a happy lad, running on the hillsides and playing in the heather and bracken. He was also apprenticed to his Da, learning the family trade. For you see, this family had been in the same business for centuries. They were in the business of destruction.”

Pyro glanced at Demo suspiciously, wondering exactly what this story was about, but it didn’t protest. It had long ago learned that Demo knew the best stories. And Demo had promised fairies and princes! 

Demo sighed. “Now, this lad was happy to be learning a trade, and happy to be following in his father’s footsteps. But he was also a bit lonely, as there were no other clann bheag around and he did not go to school. So, he learned to entertain himself when he wasnae studying the things a proper Demoman should know, like chemistry and math and science”

“One day, he decided to explore the castle they lived in. It was a huge place, and whole wings had been shut down and boarded over to keep out curious laddies and lasses. He figured out how to get past these barriers for he was a smart lad, though not smart enough to understand that “Keep Out!” means keep the hell out. He was walking down a long dusty corridor when he thought he heard someone whispering behind him. Now Tavish was a brave lad, but even the bravest lad would be frightened by this. So, he whirled around and called out “Who’s there?” His voice echoed off the bare stone walls and then fell silent into the dust.”

Pyro shivered. This story was getting scary. Demo glanced over at it. “Come ‘ere, ya wee coward. I’ll keep ye safe.” Pyro curled up closer to Demo, thankful for the strong arm that wrapped around its shoulders. It held its empty bottle out, and Demo chuckled. “And another beer.” After a bit of digging in the ice bucket, he pulled out another and handed it to Pyro.

“Now, back to our story. The wee lad, Tavish, called out and at last, someone answered him. But the voice he heard was not coming from one of the empty rooms, or from the corridors that stretched out around him like a maze. It was coming from inside his head. “Come and find me…” the voice whispered quietly. 

“But where are you?” Tavish asked the emptiness. 

“In the oak chest.” The voice replied. 

Tavish frowned. There was no chest in the hallway. He began to go from room to room, looking for a chest. “How will I know when I find you?” Tavish asked the voice.

“Lad, dinnae be stupid.” The voice replied. “I will shout out to ye when you are close.” 

Rebuked by the voice, Tavish, brave lad that he was, continued to search. At last he reached the last door in the hallway. He pushed it open, eyes widening as he peered into the chamber within. There was a huge chest on the floor of the room, sitting directly in front of a tapestry. Tavish entered the room cautiously, staring at the tapestry. It showed a man on a horse, holding a great sword high in the air and charging at a falling tower. 

“Well,” the voice said, “It took you long enough, lad. Now, open the chest and take me out.”

Tavish frowned at the chest. “How do I know you don’t mean me harm, Voice?”

“You have to be out of your bloody mind. Why would I harm you? You were born to wield me, lad. Now open the fekkin’ chest.”

Tavish did as he was told. When the lid creaked open, he looked in and found a bloody great sword inside, sheathed in a scabbard of dusty, tarnished metal. It was not a pretty thing, and it was dirty and covered in dried flakes of blood, but it was a sword, and a talking one at that. Tavish reached inside the chest and slowly wrapped his fingers around the hilt. The voice in his head got louder. 

“A good show, lad. That’s it, touch me. Feel the power we could have together”. And Tavish could feel the strength flowing up his arm. He pulled out the sword and unsheathed it, his eyes going to the shiny blade immediately. Reaching out with his free hand, he ran a finger over the edge, just like he’d seen his Da do to the kitchen knives to test them for sharpness. Tavish hissed as a thin line of blood appeared on his thumb. 

“Well, what did you expect, you bloody great fool.” The voice berated him loudly. “You should know better than to touch sharp things. Dinnae your parents teach you anything?”

“They taught me not to put up with sass from a bloody sword in a box.” Tavish said, attempting to lay the sword back inside the chest. 

“Wait, wait!” the sword shouted. “I should not have made fun of you, a sheòid. Besides, you’ve bled on me now, and we are connected. You cannae put me back in that box.” 

Tavish frowned. He wanted to put the sword back. He really did, but he just couldn’t seem to muster the willpower to release his hold on it. As he hovered over the chest, sword in hand, his eyes were drawn to it, fascinated by the shiny blade and the runes carved into the hilt. He dinnae want to put it down.

At last, he pulled it all the way out and lay it on the floor in front of him. “Alright then, sword, what do you want from me?”

“To be used, to be wielded in battle once again. I want to whet my blade in the blood of our enemies. I want to counsel you, to help you be stronger. I want to be used, boy!”

Pyro squealed in excitement and Demo glanced over at him. “Tis an exciting story, aye?” He smiled at the Pyro’s excited nods. The poor wee ane was practically vibrating with excitement and tension. He handed it another beer and continued with the story.

“Now, Tavish was a smart lad, as I believe we’ve mentioned afore, and he knew that the sword was talking aboot killing. And being a good lad, he dinnae want to kill others. And ‘specially not for a bloody claidheamh taibhse with an attitude problem. But he longed for that sword the way we long for air. He felt he could nae live without it. And so he said, “Sword, do ye have a name, or shall I just go on calling ye sword?”

“I am the Eyelander, lad, but you can call me Bill.”

“Oh… Well, Bill, ye know that I dinnae want to be killing people for you, right? I’m too young to kill people.”

The voice in Tavish’s head sighed deeply. “I know lad, but ye willnae be a wee bairn forever, now will ye? I can wait a few years.”

And with those words of reassurance, Tavish picked up the sword and, slinging it over his back, he left those dark dusty corridors behind. When he got to his room, he hid the sword well and deep in the back of his closet. At night, he would lay in his bed and the sword would tell him tales of long-ago times, of great gaisgeach and the monsters they slayed with it’s help. And Tavish was fascinated by all this.” 

Demo glanced at the Pyro. “Could you imagine being a wee lad with a talking sword filling your head with all sorts of nonsense about the glory of battle and the noble men who fight? Eh?” He leaned closer to Pyro, attempting to interpret his mumbling. “That’s what I thought you said, a bhobain.” He reached over the side of the couch and got Pyro another beer. Pyro accepted it, even though that was not what he’d been commenting on. Sliding its straw into the bottle, it leaned in closer to Demo, laying its head on his chest with a soft mumble. For some reason, Pyro thought, its head was getting heavier. Must be the weight of Demo’s story. The logic of that amused it and it giggled to itself.

“Anyhoo,” Demo continued, glancing down at the Pyro and wondering how many beers it had drank, “the lad grew, as lads are wont to do, and eventually when he was a teenager, he started working with his Da. All his life had led up to this moment, all the training and the studying and Tavish was so proud as he strode out the door on his Da’s heels with his Ma handing them both a spot of lunch and telling them to have a care as she kissed their foreheads. Tavish worked with his Da for two years, side by side, learning the practical applications of their trade. Tavish was happy with this, he’d always loved and admired his Da, and now they were laboring together and growing closer and closer every day. And yet, the sword continued to lurk in the back of the lad’s closet, whispering to him in the night. But the tone of its whispers had changed as the lad grew to a man. Now it spoke to him of people who had wronged him. Somehow it knew aboot the lass in town who’d laughed when he’d asked her for a date, it knew aboot the clatty bassa who’d chuckled when he’d tripped on the stairs and near bashed his head in. And the sword was wanting to collect the heads of these people. Tavish ignored it as much as he could but it was growing harder and harder. Finally, one night he took the sword out of the closet and swung in around the room in a great sweepin’ arc. 

“That’s the way, lad!” the sword crowed with delight. “Let’s teach ye to fight, and then we’ll get yer respect back!” And Tavish began to practice with the sword every night. It shut the bloody thing up, and he could sleep in peace after handling it for aboot an hour. It stopped blathering aboot killing people as well. Tavish thought he’d found a solution to the bloody problem. But he was so wrong. 

One night, as he was dancing across the floor with the sword in his hands, thrusting and parrying against invisible foes and breathing hard from the exertion, his dear Ma opened the door to his room. 

“Lord above, Lad!” she shrieked as the sword came within an inch of her neck. “What the hell are ye doin’?”

Tavish pulled the sword back and tried to hide it behind himself. He looked at the floor, abashed, not at all certain of what his Ma would say aboot all these goings on. But she said nothin’. She closed the door behind her and Tavish heard her walking down the hall, her boots thumping on the stones. He hung his head, he’d near killed his Ma and that weighed heavy on him. He resheathed the sword.

“What are ye doing, boy?” It exclaimed. “We almost had that one! Now is not the time to sheath me! Pick me up again, there’s heads to sever.” 

“No.” Tavish’s voice was firm. “That was my own dear wee Ma, and we nearly killed her. I would nae be here if not for her, Bill. Now, shut yer maw and leave me be or I swear I’ll never pick ye up again.”

The sword was silent. 

Tavish left the room, looking for his Ma to beg her forgiveness. He walked intae the kitchen in time to hear her speaking with his Da.

“I swear, it was the Eyelander, Finn!” There was a muffled reply from his Da. “No, I don’t know how he got the cursed thing, but there he was, in his room, swinging it aboot like a bloody madman! Ye have to talk to the boy, Fin.”

Demo reached into the bucket and pulled out another beer, handing it to Pyro. He glanced briefly at the empty bottles piled on the couch beside it and then shrugged to himself. The wee ane had a right to drink and seemed to be handling it well. Demo squinted at it. It was still mostly upright, even if it did seem to get cuddlier and cuddlier as it drank more. He sighed and pulled the warm body closer, enjoying the heat in the cold desert night. The thing was like a bloody furnace. 

“Where were we?” He patted the Pyro’s masked head as it mumbled something into his chest. “Yeah, that’s right, Tavish’s Da was getting ready to talk to him aboot the sword.”

Tavish cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen, looking at his Ma and his Da sadly. “I’m so sorry, Ma.” He started walking closer to her as she backed away from him. She had an odd look in her eye, like she feared the lad she had raised. It broke Tavish’s heart to see it. He turned to his Da who sat at the kitchen table, a bottle of Scrumpy in front of him.

“Sit down, lad.” His Da pushed out a chair with the toe of his boot. “Mairi, go bring us another bottle. I think the lad will need a drink by the time we’re through here.” He glanced at his wife as she hesitated. “Dinnae worry, woman. If the bairn is old enough to swing a sword aboot, he’s old enough to drink with his Da.” He watched as she left the room.

“Now lad, would you like to tell me where you got that bloody sword from and what ye were doing that’s frightened your poor Ma so?”

Tavish began to tell him the whole story, from finding it in the chest to the accident tonight. And the whole time, the sword was screaming inside his head. “No, don’t tell him! He’ll make you banish me!”

Finn DeGroot watched his only son with an odd look on his face. “The cursed thing is talking to ye even now, isn’t it?” 

Tavish looked at him in surprise. “How did you know that, Da?”

The older man smiled at his son, but it was a cheerless smile. “Do ye really think you’re the first DeGroot to wield the Eyelander, boy? It’s been a curse on our family for ages now. Your ancestor, Laydon DeGroot, found the sword long ago. He was a brave man, was Laydon DeGroot. He was tasked by his clan chieftain to destroy the fairy rings up on the moor. And he did a very good job if it too, til he met a fairy lass and fell in love with her.”

Tavish’s eyes widened as he looked into the scarred and lined face of his Da. This was history he’d never been told. The name Laydon DeGroot fired his imagination, making him want to learn more. “Tell me, Da. Tell me about this man.”

Finn DeGroot reached for a glass and poured a measure of Scrumpy into it. “Sit yerself down, lad, and take a drink. This is a long tale and dark as well. For you see, Laydon DeGroot had a wife and two wee bairns at home when he met the fairy lass. He was burning them out, he was. Fire and salt to purify the land after it had been purged of fairies. It was hard work, and dirty and when he came home after a week upon the moors, his skin was so covered in soot that his own wife dinnae know him. And then he would go down to the stream and bathe, cleaning himself and returning to her loving arms for a day or three as he resupplied and went back to the moors.” 

Pyro clapped its hands in delight suddenly, crowing over the use of fire in the story. Demo looked at it and smiled, the first genuine smile of the evening. “You like that part, eh? The burning of the moors?” He handed the Pyro yet another beer. “Well, tis in your nature I expect. Here, drink your beer and listen, a bhobain.” 

Pyro accepted the beer and leaned back against Demo again, cupping its hands around its ears, miming listening. 

“Aye, there’s a good lad. Or lass.” Demo shrugged and chuckled. “Whatever ye are… When are you gonna unmask for us, wee ane?” He laughed harder as Pyro gripped the edges of its mask and held on for dear life. “Have it your way then.” Demo winked at Pyro, a slow flutter of the eyelid to differentiate from a blink. “I’ll bet you’re a right looker under there. Probably a leanan sidhe, keeping the mask on to protect us poor mortals from your beauty.” 

Pyro giggled and put its hands up, batting playfully at Demo. He smiled again and pulled the Pyro close. “Now, settle down, wee ane, and let’s finish this tale.”

Demo settled back into the couch again. “Finn said, “One day, when Laydon was on the moors, he was feeling a bit hungry and so he settled down on a big outcropping of rock to eat a bit of bread and cheese that he’d wrapped in a cloth. As he sat there, he saw a lass walking across the moors. She had briars in her hair and her fair arms and legs were scratched by thorns. As she came closer to him, he saw the streaks of tears dripping down her face. Her long red hair was coming free from the cloth she had wrapped around her head and, all in all, she was the fairest of face and form that Laydon DeGroot had ever seen. “Eh you!” he called to her. “Do ye need help, Lady?”

She turned to him and began to stumble toward him. As she reached him, she fell to her knees, swooning from exhaustion. Laydon jumped down from his rock and approached her carefully. He was fully aware that the fair folk are tricksters and that this could be one of them. But as he came closer still, he could detect no sign of glamour about her and so he kneeled at her side and wiped the tears from her face. And that was his mistake. 

For this was a fairy changeling, taken from her crib at birth and raised on the moors as a beloved friend of the fair folk. They had enchanted her tears so that who ever touched them would fall deeply and madly in love with her. And Laydon did. He forgot about his wife and his bairns. He forgot about his task for his chieftain. He forgot everything except for her. And she took him by the hand and led him to a fairy mound and they entered it together. Laydon DeGroot was never seen by mortals again. 

But, four score years later, a stranger appeared in Ullapool. He carried a large bundle wrapped in oilcloth and he found Laydon DeGroot’s eldest child, a son named Adaire. He handed the bundle to Adaire and told him that he’d found it on the moors, with Adaire’s name pinned to it. Adaire opened the bundle and inside were the Eyelander and a letter. Laydon had written the letter and in it he said that he’d come to sympathize with the fair folk. He had forged this sword to atone for his sins and gifted it to the family he’d left behind, the family he’d taken the task of destroying the fairies to support. 

Adaire’s hand wrapped around the sword and, when it did, the sword spoke to the first DeGroot, for it was cursed to always be a millstone around the neck of whoever wielded it, always whispering and calling for blood and heads. It was wielded for centuries, but as the country tamed, we didn’t need the sword any longer. It’s whispering would drive the person who held it mad when there were no souls to feed it. 

And so, your great grandfather locked it away in a wing of the castle that had been abandoned, hoping that no one would ever need the blood thirsty thing again. And here you are, Tavish, with the cursed thing hiding in your bedroom.” He reached out and touched his son’s hand. “I should have told you this sooner. Then perhaps you would never have found it. Perhaps you would not now be cursed to carry the damned thing and feed it for the rest of your lifetime.” The old man bowed his head and a tear rolled down his cheek. “You cannae stay here, Tavish. You must take that thing and make your own way in the world. It’s too dangerous to the DeGroot bloodline.”

Tavish was devastated by this. He’d never thought that his father would be so cruel as to throw him out into the world alone. He wept. Then, he drank. He and his father sat at the table, weeping and drinking until the wee hours of the morning. Finally, Tavish stumbled off to bed. As he lay in his darkened room, he cast murderous glances at the Eyelander laying discarded in the corner and despite the sword’s cajoling, he refused to speak to it. 

And still, the sword murmured in his head aboot how unfairly he was being treated. At last Tavish fell asleep, his head swirling drunkenly with thoughts of vengeance upon the sword. As his eyes closed, he began to dream. In the dream, he picked up the Eyelander and swung it over his shoulder. He stalked out of his room and into the ancient corridors of the castle. When he reached his father’s room, he threw open the door and thundered inside, swinging the Eyelander just as he’d spent so much time training to do. 

His father sprang up from his bed with a shout and grabbed a knife from the bedside, seeking to defend himself from his son’s wrath. Tavish overpowered him quickly, for he was young and strong. He swung a final time, watching as his father’s head rolled to the floor.”

Demo’s voice caught in a sob, and Pyro stirred beside him, a hand going to the man’s shoulder, attempting to comfort him. 

“When I woke, I was standing in my father’s room, blood all splashed on the walls and floor. His head lay at my feet and my mother was in the corner, attempting to hide herself from me.” Demo shook his head, trying to get the images to go away. “The Eyelander whispered to me that it had spared her as I loved her, but that my father had to die. And that, a bhobain, is why I am not drinking today. Every other day of the year I drink to forget. And some days it works. But if I had not drank that night, I would not be sitting here with my Da’s blood on my hands.”

Pyro looked at the man beside him, unsure what to do. Finally Demo sighed. “And so here I am, far from my home, working at a job where I can feed that damned sword daily. But don’t look so sad, wee ane, for I’ve finally figured out how to defeat the Eyelander. You see, I’m the last of my line. The last DeGroot. And if I have no children, the curse will be broken, and the sword will be robbed of it’s power.” 

Demo looked down as the Pyro started to sob. “Hey, now, no crying mo laochain. It’s nothing to cry aboot!” He looked around frantically for a moment, then scooped the Pyro up in his arms. “Come on, now. Let’s get you to bed. I think you’ve had enough for one night. No more stories for you, wee ane.” Demo carried Pyro down the stairs and into its room. He looked around at the shabby furniture, the soot stained walls, the bed covered in blankets and pillows. Carefully placing Pyro in the middle of the bed, he stood to go. Pyro caught his hand, whimpering fitfully and tugged gently at him. 

“You want me to stay, wee ane?” Pyro nodded frantically. Demo sighed and lay down on the bed beside Pyro, wrapping his arms around it. “All right now, hush and go to sleep. I’m here.” 

Pyro waved one finger in a circle over its head, and Demo chuckled. “Too much to drink, a bhobain? It’ll go away, I promise.” Curling closer to Pyro, he began to hum, his voice a rough baritone. Eventually the humming turned to words and Pyro began to relax into sleep. The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was Demo singing softly.

“Dean bà bà mo leanabh, dean cadal a rùin  
'S a mhaduinn gu mochthrathadh dh'fhosgail thu sùil  
Nuair bha eunlaith na doire ri coireal 's puirt ciùil  
Bha thu'd mhagaran làir, a'sòrach nan glùn

Tha na blàithean is àillidh tha fàs air na tuim  
A' bhuidheag 's a neòinean 's iad òrbhuidh cruinn  
An canachan mòintich, is sòbhrag na coill'  
Air dùnadh an sùilean roimh dhùbhradh na h-oidhch'

Nis dean-sa do chadal, a chagarain gràidh  
'S gun robh Freasdal 'g ad stiùradh 's gach cùis agus càs  
'S e mo mhiann is mo dhùrachd thu, rùin, a bhidh fàs  
Mar gheug is i brùchdadh toradh dùbailt thar chàich”


	3. Engineer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

The battle had been going poorly all day. Pyro didn’t quite know why, but it knew that everyone was frustrated and upset. Pyro was trying it’s best, but the BLU Spy was everywhere. It felt particularly bad for Engie and Medic, those two were targets, plain and simple. 

Pyro sighed and hefted its flamethrower, sneaking down an alley between two buildings. So far, it had managed to keep the BLU spy off Engie for about a half hour, giving him time to entrench himself firmly in a corner where he couldn’t be flanked. If the BLU Demo or Soldier didn’t find him, Engie should be ok for a bit. Pyro was planning to flank the enemy, hunt down stragglers and relieve some of the pressure from the main body of its team. 

It didn’t know where everyone else was, it had a general idea, but things could change so quickly on the battlefield. Pyro came to the end of the alley and popped around, spraying flames. Empty. No one there. Pyro nodded to itself, singing softly in a lilting mumble. Stepping onto the street, it looked both ways before ducking into another building and skulking up a flight of stairs. The BLU sniper should be up here somewhere. If it could just take him out, maybe Medic could uber Heavy and they could retake the point. 

Pyro went still as a board creaked under its heavy boot. Listening carefully, it didn’t hear a thing. Pyro continued up the steps and peeked around the corner. The sight of a leather vest over a blue shirt was its reward for patience.

Pyro stepped around the corner, flamethrower held at hip level and hit the trigger, bathing the area and the BLU sniper in flames. The sniper, startled and hurting, turned, drawing his kukri and began slashing wildly, fanning the flames to a blaze. Pyro chuckled as he died and was burned to ash. Crouching over the body, Pyro approached the window, looking out over the battlefield from the sniper’s vantage point. He watched the BLU demo run under the window and jumped, landing behind the man with a loud thump. When the demo turned, he was met with a wall of flames. 

Pyro strafed to the side, avoiding the pills being launched at it. It continued to turn with the demo, almost a dance, it thought to itself, as the demo burned and screamed and burned. At last the screaming stopped and Pyro ghosted away from the smell of seared flesh and into another building. 

It stopped suddenly, tilting its head to listen. Had that been the echo of a footfall behind it? Pyro frowned, it’s ears still ringing a bit from the demo’s explosions and continued through the long corridor that would lead back to its team. Pyro realized its mistake when it felt the burning pain right between its shoulder blades. It was immediately harder to breath, and Pyro knew the knife had nicked a lung. It turned, shoulders hunched, panting heavily, the blood oozing down it’s back in a tickling line of warmth. The flamethrower came up, it felt so much heavier now, and a finger squeezed the trigger. Hot fire coated the area, but there was no glowing outline of a spy. 

Pyro whimpered at the pain in its chest and sank to its knees, finger still crooked around the trigger of the flamethrower. It cried out as a hand wrapped around its chin, pulling its head back, baring its throat to the spy behind it. Pyro died.

Respawn was the usual sterile white room as Pyro opened its eyes. It shook itself, the residual memories of dying clinging like cobwebs and stood shakily for a second, getting its bearings. Then, Pyro charged back into the battle. 

Rounding the corner where it had left Engie, Pyro paused in surprise. Engie was nowhere around. His buildings were all there, set exactly where they had been before Pyro left, right down to the level three sentry placement. Pyro checked for spies, then leaned against the dispenser, enjoying the feel of the sun and flame heated metal through its suit. The question remained though, where on earth was Engie? 

Pyro was standing near the dispenser watching the battle ebb and flow. It heard a cry from off to it’s left somewhere, a long drawn out wail that was not the typical sound of men being torn apart by bullets and explosions. Resting the tip of its flamethrower carefully on the ground, it reached up and scratched its head, waiting for the sound to be repeated. There it was again. Pyro hefted the flamethrower and followed the noise. 

The sound led it behind buildings and into a narrow cul de sac of rocky walls that it hadn’t known existed. The wails were muffled now, less intense. It was almost like whoever was making them was growing exhausted or closer to death. Pyro slipped around a blind corner, flamethrower at the ready and stopped, puzzled.

It knew Engie’s broad back and short stature. It knew Engie’s call sign and colors. That had to be Engie standing in front of it, pinning a BLU scout to the ground with one foot. But its Engie was sweet and kind. Its Engie offered it candy and talked to it and praised it when it defended a nest or mastered a new strategy or skill on the field. Hell, it’s Engie had thrown a party with cupcakes and ice cream when it had learned to airblast. 

This Engie was a stranger. His face was twisted into a mask of hatred and anger that Pyro shrank back from. His booted foot was holding the half-naked scout on the ground, and Engie was doing something with his hand at waist level. And as it watched, terrified of this Engie, he picked the scout up again and made him scream louder than before. Pyro started to back away. The scout had blood all over the ropy muscles of his inner thighs and his buttocks looked shredded. Pyro flinched as Engie did something with the metal hand that caused the scouts eyes to roll back in his head as a long shuddering howl tore through the air. 

Pyro cringed away from the scene. It had seen many things on the battlefield, but nothing like this. Engie’s face looked demonic. He was enjoying hurting the scout. He was torturing the boy! Pyro took a careful step back as the howls became raw shrieks. Suddenly the scout began to cough, and blood sprayed from his mouth as his vocal cords tore. Pyro had never seen someone scream until their vocal cords ripped before. It stepped back another step and its foot clattered into a rock behind it. 

Engie heard the noise and froze. He turned, face still twisted into that hideous mask. For some reason, Pyro’s mind went to the Kabuki mask that Spy had hanging in his room. This was even scarier than that. Pyro froze as Engie saw him. Maybe if it held really really still this would not be happening. Engie pulled his pistol from his holster and put a bullet through the scout’s head. The boy slumped, a bloody mess of pulp from the neck up now. Engie dropped the body and his face morphed back into the Engie that Pyro knew. He took a step toward Pyro, one hand raised, palm up. 

“Now, little bit, just relax for a minute. I can explain this.”

Pyro ran.

The storage room on RED base was dark and cobwebby. As far as Pyro knew, no one else realized it was there, situated as it was in a corner behind a large pile of rusting machinery. Pyro had found it one day when it was playing hide and seek with Scout. Now, it sat in a corner, curled into a ball and hoping that Engie would not come looking for it. 

The monster it had seen on the battlefield haunted it. Pyro knew that mercenaries were a rough bunch, but Engie? Engie had always been unfalteringly polite and kind when kindness was not called for. But what if that was a trick? What if Engie was actually just waiting for Pyro to mess up so he could do those things to Pyro? The metal hand ripping and tearing. The pants around knees, grunts and thrusts. Pyro shivered, fighting back the urge to vomit. It had seen terrible things before, but nothing like that. 

Pyro froze as it heard voices calling its name. The team was searching. Pyro wrapped its arms closer around its knees and huddled into a smaller ball if that was possible. Pyro had dragged wooden crates into this room over the past few months, making a fort. Now it had a defensible position. Axe and flamethrower and shotgun were all within easy reach. Pyro ducked its head further down and hoped its team would pass it by. Gradually, the noise died down and Pyro dozed.

It had been hours and Pyro was hungry. It didn’t know how long it had been in this closet, but the sound of its belly rumbling reminded it of the stories Heavy told about bears. Pyro squeezed its arms tighter around its middle, waiting for the hunger cramps to pass. The base was silent, Pyro was guessing that it was past midnight. Cautiously, it stretched its arms and legs out, standing quietly in the corner. It had to find food and water. Otherwise, it would not have the strength to fight off the Engie monster when he came for it. 

Pyro quietly opened the door and crept down the long dimly lit hallway toward the kitchen. Going to the refrigerator it opened the door, peering inside. Mostly sandwich fixings, a few leftovers in covered containers and a lone jar of pickled beets abandoned in the back. Scooping out a few things, it rooted for mayo when a hand fell on its shoulder. 

Pyro gave a startled cry and dropped everything it was holding. Whirling around, it came face to face with Engineer. Engie’s grip tightened on its shoulder, just hard enough for the metal fingers to pinch. Pyro tried to back away and the fingers squeezed tighter, then released a bit. 

“Hold up a minute there, little bit.” Engie backed away and kicked a chair out from the table. “Sit down, we need to talk.” Engie’s gaze drilled into Pyro’s mask. “Now.” 

Pyro took another step back and Engie frowned. “You can either sit down or I can sit you down. Don’t think that I won’t shoot you in the kneecap.” His flesh and blood hand fell to his pistol, fingers caressing the grip. 

Pyro sat. 

Engie sighed and kicked out a chair, straddling it backwards and leaning forward. “You act like you’re scared to death of me, and I just think you should know that I have no intention of hurting you.” 

Pyro tapped its kneecap then pointed to Engie’s holstered gun.

“Aw, now. That was just me making sure you stick around long enough to talk this through. I wouldn’t’ve really shot you.” Engie stood up and gathered the dropped sandwich fixings off the floor. Sitting them on the counter, he began constructing a sandwich. When it was finished, he sat it on a plate and placed it in front of Pyro. “Here you go, eat up. It’s not as good as Heavy’s, but you didn’t come to dinner. You have to be hungry.”

Pyro gingerly poked at the sandwich. It has watched Engie make it, from ingredients that it had picked. There was no way it could be poisoned, right? Another gentle poke determined that the sandwich did not seem dangerous. Pyro tore off a small piece and fed it through the hole in its respirator. Engie watched the entire mistrustful process with a sigh, then stood and grabbed a knife and fork from a drawer, laying them beside the Pyro.

“Use your manners, little bit. Medic says you have good ones. Euro… peaaan, even.” Engie drawled out the word, one eyebrow raised in doubt.

Pyro shrugged and picked up the implements, cutting the sandwich into bite sized squares. It began slowly eating.

“Now, back to the matter at hand.” Engie sat back down on his chair, shuffled it a bit closer to the table. “I really truly am sorry that you had to see that yesterday. I didn’t mean to scare you, little bit.” He fell back into the nickname easily, judging from the set of Pyro’s body that it provided some security and familiarity. “You got to understand, I don’t like doing shit like that. But sometimes the frustration gets so… “ He paused searching for the words, then sighed. “It’s like having a wolf in your belly, little bit. It gnaws and gnaws away, eatin’ at you all the time and most of the time you can ignore it, pretend it don’t exist. But then something happens. It could be some little thing, like a persistent scout who insists on taking pot shots at the machines you spent hours building. It could be a slight in the locker room in the morning before battle, somebody saying your fat and lazy. It could be something so small as somebody eating the last of the peanut butter and putting the jar back. Don’t matter what triggers it, suddenly the wolf gnawing at your guts is ten feet tall and you got to feed it, put it back in it’s cage or it’s gonna devour you and all you hold dear.” Engie leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight. “Do you understand, little bit?” 

Pyro raised its head shyly, the smoked glass of its mask resting on Engie’s face. It made a warbling query of sound, it’s hand wavering over the plate in a see sawing motion. 

Engie sighed deeply. “I wouldn’t hurt a teammate, little bit. That’s what you need to remember. Hell, you all are my family. All the family I got left at this point.” He went to the refrigerator and came back with a glass of milk, sitting it on the table and pushing it toward Pyro. “My pa kicked me out, my ma is dead. I need you guys. You’re safe because of that. And because I love you.” He threw up a hand. “Not like that, before you go thinking it. Like I would love a band of brothers. If I’d had any brothers, that is.” Engie sighed louder. “Most of the time, I don’t hunt on base. I wait til furlough and I go off on my own, find some hitchhiker or whore somewhere that nobody gives a damn about and I feed the wolf that way.” He dropped his head onto his palm, rubbing at his temples, willing the tension out of his body. “But we ain’t had a break in so damned long that it just got to be too much for me, I guess. All I know is, today I wasn’t careful enough and I let the wolf take over. I hurt you, Pyro, and I would give anything to take it back.” He looked up again. “I am so, so sorry for that.” His eyes were pleading. “How do I fix it, little bit?”

Pyro looked down at the table, then back up at Engie. Slowly, its shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. It poked at the crumbs of sandwich, pushing them around on its plate. The food tasted like sawdust and stuck in its mouth. 

Engie frowned. “Drink your milk, Py. It’s good for you.”

Hurriedly, Pyro reached into its belt pouch and pulled out its metal straw. Engie noted the fine trembling in its hands as it slipped the straw into the glass and drank. “If nothing else” the wolf whispered into his ear, “It is terrified and obedient.” 

Engie sighed and stood up. Walking to the door, he paused, back turned on the Pyro sitting at the table. “Py.” His voice was low, a sweet southern drawl hiding steel. “I would appreciate it if this was kept between you and me. I’d hate to have to deal with the inconvenience of this being public knowledge.” He chuckled harshly. “Not that anybody would believe you anyway but let’s keep this as our little secret.” He took a step and stopped again. “Oh, and I want you to start coming back to dinner again. Medic started this dinner thing for you, and you don’t want to disappoint him, now do you?” 

Pyro made a muffled sound and Engie turned, cold eyes taking it in from head to toe. “Well, little bit, do you want Medic to be hurt?” 

Pyro shrank back in its chair, understanding the implications behind the question. It shook its head frantically. Engie stepped toward it, hands falling on its shoulders. 

“That’s right, little bit.” His eyes were cold and feral, Pyro’s shrinking form reflected in the irises. “You don’t want anybody you care about to get hurt, do you?” 

Pyro let out a muffled whimper and Engie chuckled as the astringent odor of urine wafted up from Pyro’s suit. “Aw now look. You’ve done gone and peed yourself, Py. Better go to your room and clean that mess up, honey bear. Wouldn’t want Scout to find out, now would we?” 

Engie leaned against the wall and laughed, a deep full-throated belly laugh as Pyro scrambled past him and down the hallway. Shaking his head, he turned back toward his shop, gait slow and steady, feeling sated. Maybe he’d found a new way to feed the wolf, he though, reflecting back on his teammate’s terror. Engie began to whistle softly into the darkness.


	4. Scout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Pyro tucked the comic book under its arm and ran. It knew that running wouldn’t do any good, and it was giggling too hard to run fast anyway. When Scout tackled it, they both went flying, ending up in a heap of tangled limbs and a large cloud of red dust. The comic lay in the dirt just out of their reach. Scout grabbed for it, trying to inch his lithe body out of Pyro’s grapple. Pyro just held on tight, knowing that Scout would grow tired of this soon enough and give up, leaving him in a gasping panting mess on the ground. Pyro grunted as Scout’s feet dug into its ribs, sure to leave bruises, but nothing a medigun couldn’t fix. 

Scout’s grasping fingers closed on the comic and he twisted in Pyro’s strong arms, managing to turn his torso to face the masked mumbler. “Lemme go!” He swatted the comic onto Pyro’s rubber coated head, hard. “Come on, Py! Off!” 

Pyro shook its head, squeezing tighter around Scouts waist. It managed an exclamation of pain when Scout continued to whack its head with the comic. 

“Damn it, Py! Get offa me!” Scout’s shouts were tinged with laughter, the comic continuing to smack down on Pyro’s head. Pyro started shouting too, its words muffled by the mask, unintelligible. It managed to pin Scout finally, legs straddling his hips and weight pressing him into the ground. Scout continued to whack away at Pyro with the comic. Pyro’s fingers crooked and it growled threateningly at Scout from its vantage point. 

“Yeah, growl away, Mumbles!” Scout blustered, trying to free himself from Pyro’s weight while simultaneously smacking him. 

Pyro growled again, crooked fingers suddenly diving into Scout’s ribs, tickling him until he shrieked for mercy. 

“Uncle! Uncle!” Scouts shouted cry was twisted by his howls of laughter, but Pyro stopped tickling him, giving him time to catch his breath. When Scout seemed calmer, he pointed to the comic, then to Scout. 

Scout heaved a sigh. “Fine, fine, you crazy shit. I’ll read it to ya.” Scout grumbled as Pyro rolled off him, stretching out in the dirt at his side. “I don’t know why you can’t read it yourself.”  
He opened the comic and glanced over at Pyro. “Ya wanna go inside first? Get some soda and some popcorn? Maybe a bath?” Scout looked down at his dust coated skin and clothes. “I’m a mess. I don’t know if you get dirty or not, but you gotta be hot in those pajamas” He pinched at Pyro’s fire suit and Pyro giggled. It tilted its head to the side thinking hard. Finally, it nodded and held up one finger. 

“One hour?” When Pyro nodded, Scout grinned. “The rec room? Maybe we can get the couch before all those old fucks steal it so they can watch As The World Turns.”

Pyro giggled harder at the thought. It didn’t understand why Heavy loved soap operas so much, but it wasn’t gonna argue with Heavy over who got the couch. Leave that to Scout, it thought. 

An hour later, Scout and Pyro tumbled into the rec room, pushing and shoving at each other while Scout talked excitedly about his day, his baseball scores, and his ability to win hearts. Pyro was shaking his head and making derogatory gestures which were met with threats and yells.

“Quiet!” Heavy, firmly ensconced on the ratty sofa thundered at them both. The pair stopped shouting; eyes focused on Heavy. Suddenly, Scout nudged Pyro’s arm, a nasty grin spreading across his face. 

“Hey there.” Scout approached the couch with a loose jaunty stride that bode ill for everyone. “What you doing, Fatty?” He plopped down on the couch next to Heavy, hard enough that the whole structure creaked. 

Heavy groaned and placed a hand on his forehead. “Heavy is watching Bob and Lisa. Be quiet, little man.”

Pyro backed into a corner as Scout stretched out his long legs, put his arms behind his head and began to whistle tunelessly. Heavy tried to ignore him. Scout continued to whistle. Heavy turned redder and redder. At last he could stand it no more. “Out! Little man leaves now or Heavy will crush into floor!” Heavy jumped up, arms waving wildly and grabbing the bottom of the couch, tipped the entire thing, with a still whistling Scout, over backwards. Scout, still whistling rode the couch down and lay sprawled out, half on the couch and half on the floor as Heavy began to stalk around it in his direction.

Pyro, seeing the disaster that was about to come, jumped in front of Heavy, arms waving frantically. Heavy frowned down at it. “Get Scout and leave, little Pyro. NOW!” The last word was roared in a voice that could probably be heard in the BLU base. 

Pyro grabbed Scout’s arm and began pulling frantically at him, grousing and grunting loudly. Scout continued to whistle as Pyro dragged him out of the rec room. Once in the hallway, Pyro let go of Scouts arm and stood over him, tapping a foot impatiently, breath coming in sharp huffs. It pointed to Scout, then to the comic it held. 

Scout sighed. “You really think I don’t wanna read to you? Naw buddy, I was just messing with Heavy.” Scout grinned wickedly, eyes twinkling. “It’s good for the big guy, keeps him moving. Come on Py, lets go up on the roof.” Pyro shook its head and took Scouts hand, pulling him toward the closet they’d found and fixed up as a hide out. Scout let himself be dragged along behind Pyro. “Hey, we forgot the sodas. We gotta go back, Py. Reading makes me thirsty.”

Pyro shook its head, refusing to let go of Scout. Pulling him into the closet, a mostly bare room about ten by ten feet, it pointed to the cooler sitting on the floor. It then pointed to the pile of pillows they’d dragged into the room over the past few weeks. Scout grunted in frustration and flopped down on the floor. “Fine, give me the damned comic.”

Handing over the comic, Pyro sat on the floor beside Scout, making itself comfortable on the pillows. 

Scout flipped to the first page, staring down at the lurid graphics. Using his finger to trace under the words, he hesitantly began. “Slide into the sloppy, slimy Crypt of Terror,” he read slowly. “Fried… Friend… Fiend Fans” Scout frowned, sounding the words out carefully. “This is your” he skipped a word “care… take... er” He sounded the word out, searching for the sense behind it. “Caretaker!” he shouted. “That’s caretaker!” 

Pyro nodded, clapping its hands in delight. It then pointed to the word Scout had skipped over, tapping it with its finger.

“I can’t, Py. That ones too hard.” Scout looked down at the cheap paper, anger narrowing his eyes briefly. His hand balled into a fist. “I don’t know why we have to do this shit anyway. I don’t need to read. I’m the fastest man in the Gravel Wars.”

Pyro’s hands shaped symmetrical curves into the air, then mimed squeezing. 

Scout looked at it speculatively. “Girls? Why do girls care how good I can read? Girls only getting one thing from me anyway and it sure ain’t a bedtime story.” He chuckled salaciously. “You know what I mean, Py?” He glanced over, grinning, then his face dropped. “Probably not, eh?” He frowned. “You ever been with a girl, Pyro?” 

Pyro turned glass lensed eyes toward Scout. It pointed to itself and moved its hand in a chattering motion, then pointed to Scout and made the same motion.

Scout, familiar with this game, grinned. “I answer a question, you answer a question?”

Pyro nodded enthusiastically. 

“Ok.” Scout agreed. “I ask first. Pyro, you ever been with a girl?”

Pyro’s shoulders slumped and it looked down at the floor, seemingly lost in thought. Slowly it held up three fingers. 

Scout hooted. “What? Three girls? Pyro, you are so full of shit!” 

Pyro shook its head, then made a lewd gesture with its fingers. 

Scout hooted louder. “All the way? You got to be kidding me!” He stopped suddenly, remembering the image he was trying to portray. “Of course, I’ve been with lots more girls than that, but still…”

Pyro sighed, sounding distinctly annoyed, and pointed its index finger at its chest. 

“Okay, okay. Your turn, Py. What’s your question?” 

Pyro pointed at the comic then to Scout and shrugged dramatically. 

“Why can’t I read?” Scout interpreted, used to Pyro’s methods of communication. He winced slightly when Pyro nodded. 

“I can read, just not great.” Scout grinned cheekily, the smile never reaching his eyes. “Hey, we can’t all be good at everything, right?”

Scout looked down at the comic on his lap then back at his friend. “If I tell you something, can you keep it a secret?”

Pyro mimed closing a zipper across its mouth and throwing away the key.

Scout laughed, a nervous laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He shifted positions, laying down on the floor and looking up at the ceiling. “I went to Catholic school, back in Boston. Didn’t know that, did ya?” 

Pyro’s whole body mimed surprise. “Well, I did. It was the school in my neighborhood. St. Martin’s. Me and all my brothers went there. Mostly it was a bunch of crazy nuns. They were alright though. If you made ‘em mad, they would smack your knuckles with a ruler, but they weren’t too rough on us. But when I was in third grade, we got this new teacher. He was a priest. At first, it was all good. I was the class clown, a troublemaker and a loudmouth even then.” Scout sighed. “Lord knows, with seven brothers, I had to do something to get some attention. So, I made noise. Plus, I couldn’t sit still. The priest, his name was Father Benjamin, decided to ‘help’ me. He got me to stay after school, cleaning chalkboards and clapping erasers. Hell, he gave me a dime a day to do all that. I thought I was rich.”

Scout buried his face in his hands. “Then, he started touching me. It was all real innocent at first, just a brush on the shoulder, a pat on the head. I thought he was the greatest guy ever, used to dream about him marrying my mom and being my dad.” Scout looked over at Pyro. “Do I have to spell out where this is going?”

Pyro shook its head. It had a very bad feeling about this story. 

Scout chuckled, a harsh sound with no amusement in it. He looked down at his hands, long and slender, bound in tape. “It all came to a head two years later. I was cleaning up the classroom and well, shit just went south. That was the last time I went to school. I was ten. My mom would drop me off and I went in the front door and out the back. I took to the streets.” He shrugged thin shoulders. “I found a new family with the neighborhood gang. I started standing lookout for Buddy McLean and worked my way up in the family. “Scout glanced over at Pyro then reached out and patted his drooping head. “Hey there, cheer up buddy. It wasn’t that bad. Bad happened later.”

Scout began to pick at a piece of tape on his left hand. “We was all down on the docks one night about eleven, getting a shipment of guns ready to go on the boat. Buddy was a big believer in selling shit over in Ireland. Free the homeland, paddy pride, all that shit, ya know?” Scout shook his head. “Fucker thought he was Michael Collins or something. I never cared where the guns went, long as I got paid.” 

“Anyway, we’re all standing around watching the guns get loaded. I remember it was real foggy that night, pea soup fog they call it. Shit made everything creepy, like nothing was real, ya know. So, this car comes rolling along out the mist, almost like a ghost car, ya know. There’s this real good-looking dame driving it. Classy like, long blonde hair all around her shoulders like Jane Mansfield and this real expensive looking wool coat. Bitch was even wearing leather driving gloves, just like some dame in the movies. She slowed down and looked us all up and down real slow, like she was better than us, ya know? 

Anyway, she stopped to ask for directions and one of the boys, Tommy I think, jerked her out of the car. We decided to run a train on her, right there on the docks. See, the plan was to break her in and then ship her ass to Ireland, let them deal with her.” Scout looked down at the floor, running his fingernail under the tape on his wrist, loosening it, then tightening it back up, smoothing it flat with his fingers. “I didn’t really want to, but I was the youngest guy there. If I backed down, they would call me a chicken, ya know?” He frowned. “She screamed and screamed. I was on top of her and she just wouldn’t shut up, so I put my hands over her mouth and nose, trying to make her shut up, ya know? Finally, she stopped screaming but I was kind of wrapped up in what I was doing and forgot to move my hands. Then she stopped moving.” 

“So, there we all are, pants down with this dead chick, when her bodyguards finally catch up to her. They see what the hell we’re up to and open fire, right? We shoot back. First fucking thing ya know, there’s cops and dead bodies all over the place. I got arrested, booked downtown. Buddy comes by and tells me I fucked up real bad. Turns out her daddy was a capo in the Patriarca family. If I lived through prison, I’d be dead the minute my feet hit the streets.” Scout turned his face away, trying to hide the sheen of tears in his eyes. Pyro pretended to ignore the quiet sniffles as he got himself back under control. “I still hear her screaming sometimes when I’m trying to go to sleep.” 

” Then this woman comes strolling into my cell and starts talking to me. Ha! Like we was out on the street and she’d stopped by to say hello, she was so cool. Like ice. She says she heard I could almost outrun a bullet. Now, I didn’t want to brag to the dame or nothing, but I was pretty damned fast. My buddies used to call me Flash.” Scout grinned, hiding the sorrow still lurking in his eyes behind his usual bravado. “Yeah, I was the fastest damned messenger boy in Boston.” He stared up at the ceiling, voice tinged with nostalgia. “I really miss Boston, Py. The street smells, the docks, the food, my mom.” His voice cracked and broke on the last two words. Scout shrugged and glanced sideways at Pyro. “I know, whatever, right? No going back there now. Least not for me.”

“Anyway, Miss P. said she’d take care of the problem with the Anguilo family; I’d start over someplace warm all the time, someplace with action and adventure. Didn’t realize what she was actually saying was “We’re gonna ship your ass to the desert and let you run around in the stinking heat killing people. I might of just taken my chances in prison if I’d’a known all this shit.” He saw Pyro’s reaction to his words and shook his head. “Naw, don’t listen to me Py. I’d have died my first night there.” He gently bumped Pyro’s shoulder with his fist. “Hey now, don’t look so down about it. Besides, I wouldn’t have met you, and you wouldn’t be trying to make me read, right?” He leaned over and pulled Pyro into a rough hug. “You’re the best, bro.”

Pyro hugged him back then pointed at the door and mimed swinging a bat. “Yeah…” Scout replied, “Let’s go play ball. Hell, with this comic. I’ll read it later, Mumbles.” The pair stood up and bolted for the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James “Buddy” McLean was the leader of the Winter Hill Gang, a notorious Irish-American group of mobsters in the 1960’s. 
> 
> The Patriarca crime family also known as The Boston Mob, is an Italian American crime family operating in the New England area of the US.


	5. Sniper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Pyro didn’t really mean to stalk Sniper, but when it saw him leaving base, it was curious. The Administrator had announced a three-day cease fire due to some sort of mechanical issue and that left the entire team, other than Engie, with nothing to do. Pyro had been looking out the window that evening, bored beyond belief, when Sniper came out of his van wearing a knapsack and carrying a bow. He’d looked around furtively, then skulked off into the high brush at the back of the base. Pyro, not really thinking, had run out the door and followed Sniper’s tracks into the desert. 

The sun was starting to set when Pyro realized what a bad idea this had been. It was in the desert, no water, no flashlight, and the sky was getting darker by the minute. Pyro looked around, uneasy. The high hills and rock formations all looked the same. It wasn’t sure what direction the base was in. Pyro was trying to follow its own footsteps but could barely see the ground in front of it. Pyro felt an uneasy dread beginning to grow in its stomach. It was definitely lost. It kept walking, too panicked to sit still and wait for daylight. 

As night settled over the landscape, Pyro stopped for a moment and stared upwards at the sky. Stars shone like little diamonds and a sliver of moon rode the horizon, but neither provided enough light to see. Pyro whimpered to itself, its muffled voice sounding lonesome and pathetic. Its mind wandered to the comics that it and Scout had been reading earlier, the monsters that lurked in the darkness, waiting to swallow unwitting prey. Pyro wished it had brought its flamethrower. Reaching into its pocket, it pulled out the silver Zippo it always carried and began to flip it on and off. Pyro, eyes fixed on the flame, wondered if that would be enough light to find its way home. 

Using the light from the small flame, Pyro tried to find its own footprints in the hard-packed desert earth. It saw where it had just come from, the footprints already beginning to blow away in the light wind that came every night, carrying a chill with it. Pyro begin walking in an ever-widening circle, pushing through brush and cacti, only avoiding objects that it could not walk through. Eyes trained on the ground; Pyro wasn’t paying attention to its surroundings. Suddenly, it stopped moving. A rustle in the brush had caught its attention. Pyro looked up, shrieking in fear as the huge shadow moved almost immediately in front of it. The light from the Zippo caught and reflected from eyes, an eerie green glow staring straight at Pyro. There was just enough light to show the tawny fur and sharp teeth of a puma. The big cat crouched in the brush to Pyro’s left, lips pulled back in a silent snarl. Pyro whimpered in fear and began to back away from the cat, their gazes locked. Pyro did not see the cliff’s edge. It took another step back and its foot landed on empty air. Arms wind milling, Pyro fell. 

The straight drop was only about ten feet or so, but when it hit the cliff side again, Pyro landed hard. The distinct sound of snapping bone boomed through the air, a sound like knuckles cracking. Pyro screamed and rolled down the side of the steep hill, body bouncing from rock to rock, the bright flares of pain in its leg eclipsing all else. Finally, the bouncing journey ended when Pyro’s head slammed into a boulder at the bottom of the cliff. Pyro lay still in the cloud of red dust it had raised, silent and still. Gradually the dust settled, coating Pyro’s suit in a layer of red dust.

Pyro moaned. One hand crept slowly to its head, feeling the tender bump under the skintight mask. A low groan came from it. Pyro stared up at the stars, watching them dance and whirl in the sky. Time spent in the Gravel Wars, with rocket blasts and sticky bombs, meant that Pyro recognized a concussion when it had one. With an exclamation of disgust, it let its head thump back to the dirt, yelping in pain and muttering curses as pain blossomed. 

After a few moments of lying there, Pyro felt brave enough to try sitting up. It was flat on it’s back, one leg crooked under it, with a dull ache behind its eyes. Slowly rolling to the side, Pyro winced at the twinges of pain even the slight movement caused. It pushed itself up with both arms, looking down at the rest of its body, assessing the damage. The leg that was bent under it lay at an unnatural angle; the knee swollen so badly that its suit was tight around it. Pyro shook its head in dismay, the world swirling like a carnival ride when it did so. 

With a heave and a scream of pure agony, Pyro turned the useless leg around, aligning it with the other one. Its breath came in sharp panting gasps from behind the mask as it attempted to ride out the pain. Each exhalation ended in a whine of agony. Pyro lay still for several long moments, miserable tears staining its face behind the mask. 

When the pain began to subside again, Pyro sat up, leaning back against the boulder that had stopped its downhill tumble. Its eyes followed the path of it’s fall. At least twenty feet of cliff side, and there at the top, staring down, eyes glowing in the moonlight, was the puma. Pyro whimpered, free hand clutching about for a weapon, a branch or a rock, anything it could use to defend itself. There was nothing. Pyro froze, watching as the eyes turned away, the big cat slinking out of sight. Pyro stared after the puma, realizing how truly fucked it was. 

When its eyes finally adjusted to the near total darkness at the cliff’s foot, Pyro sighed. Twenty-foot walls on three sides, and a huge rock at the natural traps entrance, leaving a gap barely large enough to squeeze through. And who knew how far the canyon walls went beyond that, impossible to climb with a broken leg. Top that with a hungry puma who knew that Pyro was down here, wounded, and the chances of survival dropped to nothing. Pyro dragged itself to the shelter of a large boulder, wanting it’s back protected by something. Pausing to catch its breath, it wondered if respawn would reach this far. It wasn’t sure how far it had walked yesterday, but assumed four, maybe five miles. And then how far had it traveled after getting lost? And where exactly was the base? Pyro muttered to itself, cursing low under its breath to keep the puma from hearing. “And,” it thought to itself, “if there’s a puma out here, what else is out here? Snakes? Yes. Wolves? Yes. Man eating monsters like in Scout’s comics? Probably.” Pyro’s shoulders slumped in resignation. 

Pyro sat with its back to the boulder, sliding in and out of consciousness. It became fully alert when it heard the shuffling on top of the cliff. The moon had crossed the sky and disappeared beyond the walls of it’s prison some time ago. Groping around, it found a fist sized rock. Clutching the rock tightly, it shrank back against the boulder, shivering with cold and fear. Whatever was up there was pacing the cliff top, seeking a way down. Hearing the rattle of loose pebbles and dirt sliding from behind it, Pyro knew that it had found a way. Tightening its grip on the rock, Pyro prepared to die. 

“Oy, mate, you’ve got yourself in a right mess, haven’t ya?” Pyro opened its squeezed shut eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. Looking up at Sniper from its position on the ground, Pyro slowly uncurled from the defensive ball it was huddled in, bad leg still straight in front of it. It peered up at Sniper, wondering for a second if it was hallucinating, then began to babble in relief. Sniper walked closer, the flashlight he carried switching on, a bright glare lighting up the area and blinding Pyro momentarily. Pyro threw an arm over its eyes, seeking to protect them and the flashlight came down on the side of its head, knocking it out again.

When Pyro’s eyes cracked open this time, there was a dim rosy glow surrounding it. A small fire was crackling cheerily directly in front of it and there, sitting cross legged in the darkness was Sniper. The puma lay stretched out beside him, and the two seemed to be having a conversation. Pyro blinked and the puma was gone. Remembering the flashlight descending, Pyro whimpered, trying to pull itself away from Sniper. Sniper raised his hand, palm out and spoke in the same soft tones he would use for a wounded animal. 

“Calm down, mate. I’m not gonna hurt ya.” The soft lilting strains of the Aussie’s accent did nothing to calm Pyro. “Look, I had to knock ya out. There was no way I could get you up the cliff and get that leg set otherwise.” 

Pyro stopped scooting backwards and looked down at the splint made of sticks and Sniper’s ripped up shirt on its leg. Trying to ignore the waves of dizziness washing over it, Pyro peered out into the darkness. It could just make out the drop into the canyon ten feet from where it lay. Pyro warbled out a query, hands waving about. Sniper sighed. “Wish I could understand ya, mate. I guess you wanna know what happened, right?” 

Pyro nodded gingerly.

“Well, I found ya down that canyon, all banged up and your leg broken. I had to get you to the top of the cliff and get that leg set. I hit you in the head and knocked you out, dragged you up here and set your leg.” Sniper looked down at his hands, shoulders sagging. “Look, I’m sorry I hit you mate, but that canyon is a death trap if it rains.”

Pyro pointed up at the night sky, then tapped its wrist where a watch would be if it owned one. 

“It’s about four hours until dawn. I need to go back to base and get help, but it’s a long walk from here.” Sniper sighed. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone in the dark, so I built a fire and waited.”

Pyro watched Sniper, glass lenses of its mask reflecting the firelight. There were so many questions still. Pyro had never heard Sniper talk so much but decided to take advantage of the gangly assassin’s chattiness. It looked around, searching the darkness, then looked back at Sniper. Most important question first, it thought. Slowly, it enunciated to make itself understood. “Cat?”

Sniper frowned. “Cat?” Understanding dawned suddenly. “Oh, you mean the puma. Yeah, that’s a big cat, mate. Pretty thing though, isn’t she?”

Pyro curled its fingers into claws, making a pouncing motion that sent a shock of pain through its leg. 

Sniper shook his head. “Nah, mate. Don’t you worry about her. She won’t attack you, not unless you threaten her first.”

Pyro shook its head adamantly. “Come on mate, don’t ya trust me? She won’t bother you.” Pyro motioned with one hand, miming getting banged in the head and pointed at Sniper. 

Sniper chuckled dryly. “Ya got a point there. I did hit you in the head.” He handed his canteen across the fire to Pyro. Pyro accepted it gratefully, taking its straw from its belt pouch and drinking deeply. It gestured toward the brush and Sniper noted the fine tremble in its hand. Then it pointed to Sniper, throwing its hands up in a questioning gesture.

“When I was a boy,” Sniper’s voice broke the silence, “I didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. Wasn’t like the other kids, had no interest in sports or the latest toys. They teased me about it all the time. Kids are cruel, Pyro.” Pyro nodded agreement. “So, I started going out into the bush to get away from them. And I started hunting.” Sniper stared into the flames, seeming lost in thought. 

Sniper glanced across the fire at Pyro, the warm light making his cheeks ruddy. Pyro stayed silent, not sure what this had to do with the puma, but willing to listen to the Aussie’s accent until dawn. 

“I hunted a lot while I was out there. I had to eat. But I also hunted for fun and that’s not a good thing. I would track animals for days, playing with them, waiting until they tired themselves out and then letting them rest and chasing them again. And when they were too tired to run, I would kill them.” His chest rose and fell in a sigh. “Not a good lad at all, me.” 

Sniper placed another piece of dry wood onto the fire, causing it to flare up brighter. “One day, I was tracking a dingo that I’d wounded. I had shot it in the neck, just grazed it really, and then I followed it, always just in sight, wearing it down. When it stopped, I would stop. When it moved, I would chase it. If it stopped for too long, I’d start moving toward it, making it get up and move again. Finally, it just stopped running and wouldn’t get up. I had a long stick and was poking at it. I’d poke it and it would snarl, and I’d poke it again. I tortured that poor animal for over an hour. It turned its head to the side and just wailed up at the sky, the loneliest, saddest sound ever. I didn’t care though. To me, it was just an animal.”

Sniper shook his head, mouth drawn tight. “Finally, it stopped fighting. Just dropped its head down and stared at me. I stared back. Couldn’t help it. It was like the thing was looking straight through me. And then, just when I was getting unnerved by it all, that bloody dingo spoke to me.” 

Sniper glanced across the fire at Pyro. “It said “Whyfore you doing this, mate. I’ve done nothing to you or yours.” Sniper snorted. “You can imagine how surprised I was. Bloody dingo, laying there in the dust, talking to me. I figured that I’d been out in the heat too long. But I was too proud to let that damned dingo have the last word. So, I told it “I’m doing this because of what you are, mate, an animal.”

“And you aren’t?” 

That dingo had the balls to talk back to me. “Oh, I’m an animal too.” I said finally. “Just a smarter animal.” 

“Then, the dingo started telling me about its pups, her pups I guess I should say, and how they were crying in their den with hunger and thirst because of me. And I realized that I was acting just like the bloody bullies at my school, torturing something for fun. Something snapped in me then. All that anger, all that pain the other kids had caused me, just didn’t make any sense. Here I was, whinging about them and doing the same thing they did. I was a hypocrite.” 

“I sat down in the dirt beside her, thinking of my own mum, and how she was home sitting in a nice house with me dad and waiting for me to come home so she could stuff me full of supper. Just like this dingo wanted to do to her pups. And I realized that we really weren’t any different from her. And we talked. We talked for hours.”

“Finally, she told me that I had to make a choice. I had to either help her back to her den or put her down. I didn’t even need to think on that one. I took some clean bandages out of my pack and used the last of my water to bandage the wounds I’d given her. Then I carried her back to her den. It took two days, mate. Dingoes are heavy.” Sniper smiled, lost in memory as he stirred the fire with a long stick.

“At last I set her down outside her den and she called to her pups. They came rolling out of that den like hungry little fluff balls and, as they nursed, I sat there beside them and talked to her and stroked her. At last, she got up on her feet all shaky and hurting and it broke my heart to see that. I had done that, you see. She went into her den with her pups and I went home.” 

Sniper glanced over at Pyro. “A few days later, I went back to her den with some food I’d taken from my ma’s pantry. Someone else had found the den, though, and she couldn’t protect the pups because of the injuries I gave her. They were all dead.” Sniper sighed. “I was a good tracker, mate. That was when I stopped hunting four legs and started hunting two.”

“I’ve been able to talk to animals since then.” He shrugged. “That’s how I know Maeve won’t hurt you. She told me so.” He chuckled softly. “Hell, we’ve been hunting together for about a year now, and she’s a good sort.” Sniper looked out into the brush and Pyro followed his gaze. The light fell on a tan body lying beside a boulder. “She saved you, mate. How do you think I knew where to look for you?” 

Sniper unfolded his gangly legs and walked into the brush. Squatting in front of the big cat, he spoke to her in a low voice. When he stood up and came back to the fire, she came with him, padding along at his side like a giant house cat. Sniper sat down again as the cat circled the fire, sniffing at Pyro. It pressed itself back against the hard earth, holding as still as possible. The puma nudged one of its hands with her large head, then the other. Sniper chuckled as the cat turned to look at him. “She says that you could at least scratch her ears after all the trouble she went to for you.” 

Slowly Pyro unclenched its gloved fingers and raised its hand. It laid that hand on the puma’s sleek fur, fingers crooking and scratching. The puma purred and lay down beside it. As Pyro scratched her head, it gradually relaxed and began to enjoy the experience. The cat lay next to Pyro, warmth soaking into its leg and soothing the pain there. Sniper watched from his side of the small fire, occasionally feeding it wood to keep the flames bright. 

Before long, Pyro’s head began to droop, and his breathing evened out again. He dozed by the fire, the puma stretching her length along its front to keep it warm. Sniper nodded off, head dropping to his chest and the camp was silent as the fire burned down to embers.

When Pyro woke up, Sniper was gone. Its mind went back to the night before and it shook it’s head in confusion, not certain what was real and what was a dream. The fire was burned to ashes in the fire pit. With a sigh, Pyro reached for the canteen Sniper had left and took a drink. Laying back on the ground, it waited for rescue. 

Pyro stretched out in the clean white bed in Medic’s clinic with a sigh of relief. Medic had arrived with Sniper and Heavy after about seven hours of waiting. Heavy had picked Pyro up like it weighed nothing, settling it into the back of Engie’s truck as carefully as possible. Then there was the long ride back to the base, boring scenery punctuated by bright flares of pain every time they hit a bump. Medic had then had to rebreak the leg, saying that the bone was starting to heal and the Medigun would not work on it. Pyro saw the glint in Medic’s eye and wondered how true that was. But the leg was rebroken and set properly, then the Medigun was turned on it. Other than some residual twinges, Medic said it would be fine. When Pyro started to leave the clinic though, Medic pushed it back onto the bed and said something about dehydration and stress and concussions and a 24-hour watch. 

Pyro didn’t bother to protest, knowing that it would do no good. So here it lay, surrounded by clean sheets and clean smells, its mind turning to jello with the boredom. Gradually, it began to replay the events of the past day. It had to see Sniper again. It had to know if the strangely surreal night had happened. If Sniper could talk to animals, like some kind of Australian Dr. Doolittle, how fun would that be! Pyro sank into the pillows, dozing off and dreaming of talking dingoes. 

When Medic finally released Pyro with a clean bill of health and a stern warning to stay away from the desert, Pyro went straight to Sniper’s camper. Sniper was sitting in the shade of a striped umbrella at the picnic table, beer in hand. When he saw Pyro approaching, he gave a halfhearted wave. 

Pyro joined Sniper at the table and handed him the first drawing he’d made while imprisoned in Medic’s clinic. It was a thank you card, printed carefully in a childish hand with a picture of Sniper and Pyro and several balloons. Sniper accepted it, surprised, and when he looked up from the card, his smile was genuine. 

“Thanks, mate. I’ll hang this on my wall. It’s right nice.” 

Pyro held out the second picture, of the two of them sitting around a fire. Green glowing eyes were peeking from behind a bush in the background. Pyro tapped the eyes with one gloved finger, then pointed to the thank you card. Sniper’s brows knitted together over his eyes. 

“I don’t get you mate.” Sniper glanced over at Pyro, then back at the picture. “I see you and me, but what’s hiding in the brush? A monster?” 

Pyro shook its head frantically. “Cat.” It enunciated clearly. “Thank cat.” 

Sniper shook his head. “What cat?” He peered closer at the picture. “Is that what this is supposed to be?” One calloused finger touched the eyes. “That would be a right big cat, mate.”

Pyro sighed in frustration. “Cat.” 

Sniper’s frown deepened. “You think there was a cat out there with us? Mate, you hit your head pretty hard. There was no cat.”

Pyro peered at Sniper. He seemed serious about this. How could Sniper not remember? Pyro tapped the picture again, speaking and gesticulating with both hands. After a moment, Pyro stopped, sitting silent and staring at Sniper. 

Finally, Sniper sighed. “You were hurt. In shock. Its hard to tell what you dreamed up. The desert will do that to you.”

Pyro’s open hand slapped down on the table. The words poured from it, muffled by the mask into an unintelligible jumble of sounds. 

Sniper watched it warily. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. “Look mate, I don’t know what you thought you saw or heard out there, but it was a dream. There was no cat. Just you and me and a campfire. Now if you want to get worked up over this, I can call Medic to come sedate you.” He glared at Pyro. “I would suggest though, that you just forget about it and be happy that you’re home safe and in one piece.”

Pyro stood, anger flashing through it at the threat of sedation, and stalked back into the base. Sniper watched it go, its back stiff, hands fisted at its sides. Finally, he sighed, shoulders slumping. He put his hand on his forehead, rubbing at an ache that was starting to form. A ground squirrel scurried out from beneath the van and chattered at him. Sniper turned and glared at it. “I don’t need any guff from you either, Marvin. You know I can’t tell him the truth.” Gathering up the thank you cards, Sniper walked to his van, climbing inside and slamming the door.


	6. Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Soldier was in the kitchen when Pyro went for a glass of water. Pyro stopped in the doorway, watching his broad back as he rooted in the refrigerator. Solly was not someone that Pyro wanted to make angry, he was loud and gruff even when in a good mood. It had seen the results of Solly’s bad moods, the busted faces, the bruised ribs, even the occasional trip through respawn, usually by Scout. 

So, Pyro stayed just outside the door and watched. Solly was muttering to himself, taking containers of leftovers out of the fridge, stacking them on the table and then returning them as each shelf was inventoried. Pyro stifled a cough and Solly turned around, suddenly at alert. Seeing the Pyro standing in the doorway, he relaxed a bit. “Well, Private, what are you doing here?” 

Pyro shrugged and pointed to the sink. With Solly, it was best to keep it simple and direct. 

“Go ahead, Private. Hydrate!” Solly turned back to the fridge.

Pyro went to the sink and filled a glass, then fled the kitchen, leaving Solly to his late-night inventory. Closing the door to its room and locking it, Pyro stared down at the glass for a moment, contemplating what it had just seen. Finally, with a shrug and a grunt of exasperation, Pyro drank deeply. Even a midnight trip to the kitchen was an adventure here. Sitting the glass on the rickety nightstand, Pyro went back to bed.

Morning came too early, with the shouts of hungover men and the smell of bacon. Pyro muttered under its breath and crawled out of bed. Donning its suit, it trekked through the base to the kitchen, sitting at the table with the others and filling its plate from the platters of breakfast food that Engie had provided. While Pyro ate, its attention drifted. Scout threw a piece of bacon, and the greasy meat stuck to Pyro’s mask for a moment, causing the others to laugh uproariously as it slowly slid downwards. Pyro growled low in its throat. It liked Scout, but really?

“If you’d pay attention, you wouldn’t get whopped upside the head, Py.” Engie’s reasonable tone, laced with just a hint of steel, quieted Pyro immediately. It looked at the shorter man and cupped one hand in the general vicinity of its ear. 

Engie frowned at having to repeat himself. “I was telling Scout and you to go to the train station today and pick up the supplies. I don’t have the time and the two of you need to pull your weight around here.” Engie reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he slapped five dollars on the table. “Buy yourselves some ice cream while you’re out.” He tossed the keys to the truck on the table and Scout snatched them up before Pyro could even reach for them. “I’m driving, Mumbles.” He grinned obnoxiously. “We all remember what happened the last time you drove anywhere.” 

Pyro muttered, waving one hand at Scout in a dismissive gesture. In his defense, the cactus had jumped out of nowhere. With a sigh, he watched Scout pocket the money as well.

“Last one to the truck is a knucklehead!” Scout yelled, taking off running. Pyro pushed its chair back and ran after Scout, certain that it would lose the race, but not willing to forfeit. 

The pair climbed into the truck and were in town within an hour. Scout drove much faster than Medic. They climbed out at the train station and quickly located the base’s shipment. Boxes, lots of boxes. Stacks of them. A month’s worth, in fact. They loaded what they could into the truck and took them back to base, unloading them in the team’s cargo area. Then, they went back to town for the rest. Finally, on the third trip, they had everything. The last box was huge. And after lugging it across the train platform and sliding it into the back of the truck, they could both swear that someone had ordered a load of rocks. Pyro tapped Scout on the shoulder and pointed at the shipping label. Scout leaned in a bit closer, brows furrowing. “Jane Doe.” He read the name slowly. “Hey, that’s Solly, right?” 

Pyro nodded. 

“What the hell did he order, bricks?” Scout pulled the bill of lading off the box before Pyro could react. “MRE’s?” He looked at Pyro. “What the hell? Ain’t those the nasty things soldiers eat?” Scout groaned, the realization dawning on him. “Solly’s a soldier. Of course, he eats those things.” Scout hopped in the truck; curiosity sated as Pyro frantically tried to reaffix the label. Scout leaned out the window. “You coming, Mumbles? Ice cream ain’t gonna wait all day!” Pyro ran around the truck and climbed in the passenger side, white knuckling the trip to the ice cream parlor. It cursed quietly, after Scout’s driving, it would take days to get its hands to unclench. 

When the ice cream was eaten and they were on their way home, Scout spoke softly. “So, what ya think Solly’s gonna do with all that food?” He glanced over at Pyro. “Nobody else will eat that shit. Not if they have any sense, anyway.” Pyro shrugged, tired from all the moving and shifting of boxed. It wanted home and bed. And bacon. Bacon was probably out of the question, but maybe Engie would let it cook a few slices. 

At the base, they dropped the last of the supplies, parked the truck and went inside just as Engie sat the last platter on the table. Pyro eyed the steaming hot food sadly. Beans, potatoes, fried chicken, applesauce, chocolate cake. But no bacon. Pyro walked into the kitchen where Engie was fussing over the cake, smoothing the last layer of frosting to perfection. It went to the large walk in freezer and took out the box of bacon, carrying it out to Engie. Engie looked from Pyro to the box and back to Pyro. Slowly, he reached out and took the box, dark clouds forming above his brow. 

“I reckon you want me to cook this for you?” His voice was cold, exhaustion tinging the edges of his words. 

Pyro shook its head, pointing to itself, then to the stove. Engie practically exploded. “Oh, hell no, Pyro! You ain’t getting within ten feet of that stove!” Engie shoved the box back into Pyro’s arms. “You take that bacon and you put it right where you found it. I ain’t cooking no more tonight. If you cain’t eat with the rest of us, you don’t need to eat.” Engie’s accent was getting thicker. That was not a good sign. Pyro sighed and clutched the box tighter to its chest. It turned back to the freezer, but Engie wasn’t done.

“Last time we let you near the stove, you nearly burned the base down around all our ears. Don’t even think about touching that damned stove, you got it?” 

Pyro nodded without looking back. Returning the bacon, it went to the table and sat with the others, filling its plate with things that were not bacon. After supper, Pyro placed its dishes in the sink and went to its room. Maybe if it slept, the taste of bacon would stop haunting it. 

When Pyro woke later, it slowly uncurled from its mattress, stretching out kinks and glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. Two thirty. In the morning. Pyro sighed, then thought about how nice a bacon sandwich would taste. Slowly, knowing how pissed Engie would be, Pyro edged out of its room and down the halls to the kitchen. It took the box out of the freezer and sat it on the counter. It stared for a long time. Could it do this? How hard could it be, really? The others did it all the time. Trying to remember what it had seen the others do, Pyro got a skillet out of the cupboard and put it on the stove. It turned on the burner, muttering delightedly as the blue tinged flames flared to life. It sniffed deeply, the lingering aroma of propane like a perfume. Slowly, it turned back to the box. Pulling a few strips of bacon from the paper that separated them, it lay them in the skillet, grinning at the sizzle and the aroma that began to drift from the pan. 

“What are you doing, cupcake?” The loud, unexpected voice from the doorway caused Pyro to jump and squawk out loud. Whirling, Pyro stared guiltily at Solly. The mans huge body filled the doorframe, the hat tilted down casting his eyes into shadow. For a split second, Pyro contemplated lying. It could say it found the bacon like this. Swiftly, Pyro rejected the idea. Solly would never fall for that. It would just make him scream louder and then the whole base would wake up. Pyro half turned and gestured toward the skillet. 

Solly stepped around the Pyro and stared down at the stove. “Aren’t you forbidden to cook?” Solly’s voice was too loud in the silence of the night. Pyro nodded. It pointed back at the skillet then rubbed its stomach, hoping that Solly would understand. 

It felt like Solly stood there forever. At last, the bigger man sighed and stepped around Pyro, grabbing a fork from the utensil drawer. He began flipping the bacon. “If you’re hungry, you’re hungry, soldier.” Solly grabbed a plate from the cupboard and lay a paper towel across it. “Grab a few more slices of that bacon. I’m starving.” Pyro sighed in relief as Solly tended the bacon. It grabbed the loaf of bread, then pointed to the toaster. Solly nodded, holding up four fingers. Pyro began toasting the bread. When Solly had a plate full of bacon, he glanced over at Pyro then grinned. “We’ll share it out equally. That’s what you do with the spoils of war, Maggot, and this has been a battle indeed. But we have conquered this bacon, and soon we shall conquer our hunger, like men.” Solly paused, looking Pyro up and down. “Or whatever you are.” 

Solly carried the plates of bacon to the table and sat, motioning for Pyro to take the seat beside him. “There you are, private.” He slid a plate in front of Pyro then reached for the platter of toast Pyro had made. Sandwiching bacon between slices of bread, Solly grinned. “This reminds me of the Second Great War.” He glanced at Pyro, eyes barely visible in the shadow under his helmet. “I have told you about fighting in that war, haven’t I, Private?” Pyro nodded and Solly eyed his sandwich. “Well, I shall tell you again.”

Solly dipped his head toward Pyro, acknowledging him. “They would not let me fight beside the other soldiers, and so I went to Europe and fought the Nazis myself. I landed in France in 1941 and eventually made my way across the continent, sending Nazis to hell the entire time. I found Poland in 1943. It was infested with those Nazi bastards, Private, and so I decided to stay.” 

Pyro tore off a bit of its sandwich, pushing it through its respirator and chewing thoughtfully. Solly seemed to be in an exceptional mood this morning. Against its better judgement, it decided to ask about the MRE’s. Thinking hard about how to get the idea across, it got Solly’s attention and began to draw out with its hands a shape the size of the box it and Scout had unloaded from the truck. 

Solly watched with narrowed eyes. “Was there a box in Poland?” Solly frowned. “Hell soldier, all of Poland was a box, a box of death, by the time I was done.” He took a breath, readying himself for more war stories. Pyro thought fast. 

The glass, that was the answer! Running a finger over the side of its glass, Pyro traced letters onto the table, tapping each one as it was finished to hold Solly’s attention. Solly leaned in closer.

“M.” He frowned. “Make sense, Maggot.” He frowned at Pyro, not understanding. “R” Solly watched Pyro’s finger, too clumsy in the big gloves to make anything except large childish letters. “E.” Solly leaned forward in anticipation of the next letter, but Pyro withdrew its hand. Solly leaned back in his chair, his lips pursed in thought. “M. R. E. Is that some kind of code, Maggot? Spy’s use codes.” Solly leaned forward, lightning fast, grabbing Pyro’s shoulder and pinning it to its chair. “Are you a spy?” Solly leaned in closer, examining Pyro minutely. 

Pyro shook its head frantically, denying the claim loudly but incomprehensibly. It had seen what Solly did to spies and wanted no part of that. Eventually, Solly leaned back, somewhat appeased but still watching Pyro warily. 

“What is this code, then?” 

Pyro sighed. It pointed to its bacon sandwich, then tapped the tabletop where it had written the letters. Repeating the gesture, it tilted its head, watching Solly. The big soldier frowned at Pyro. “MRE… sandwich… MRE?” Suddenly, Solly’s face lit up. “MRE’s. Rations, cupcake, you are asking about rations?” Pyro nodded, relief flooding its body. 

Solly leaned back in his chair and laughed. Picking up his sandwich finally, he bit into it, crumbs falling onto his uniform. Solly idly brushed them off with one hand. “You want to know about field rations. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Pyro sighed. This was too much work for one simple question. But Solly seemed to be on the right track now. “You went to town for the supplies yesterday, didn’t you?” Pyro nodded cautiously. “So, you saw my box of rations. That’s why you’re asking. Say I’m right, Private.” 

Pyro hesitated as Solly leaned over the table toward it, sandwich forgotten in one hand. It wasn’t sure if Solly was offended or not. At last, it nodded. 

Solly practically hooted in delight. “Good job, Private. You’re an observant one. You may have a future in this army after all.” Solly rocked back in his chair, watching Pyro. “Eat your sandwich, then you and I shall move that crate.” 

Pyro tore off another small bite of its sandwich, not sure it liked the gleam in Solly’s eyes, but feeling trapped at this point. It sighed. If worst came to worst, there was always respawn. It watched as Soldier finished the last few bites of sandwich and placed his plate in the sink. He began going through the refrigerator, taking out containers and counting under his breath as he waited for Pyro to finish. Pyro ate slowly, not sure what to make of all this. At last, Pyro couldn’t stretch eating out any longer. It popped the last bite into its mouth and sipped from its straw, washing it all down. At least, it thought to itself, it would face its doom with a full stomach. 

Solly restocked the fridge, watching as Pyro gingerly placed its plate and glass in the sink. Engie would be angry enough when he found the dirty skillet in the morning, without things getting broken. Grabbing onto its arm, Solly led it down the hallway. Pyro winced. The man didn’t seem to realize that he was squeezing to the point of bruising. He might be crazier than a shithouse rat, Pyro thought, but he was damned strong. All that PT must be doing something for him. Pyro chuckled to itself at the thought and Solly turned to look at it.

“What’s so funny, Maggot? Care to share?” 

Pyro swallowed then pointed to Solly’s hand on its arm and flexed the muscles of its own arm, the gesture easily recognizable, even in the suit. Solly frowned, not understanding until Pyro mimed breaking a twig in half. Solly looked more embarrassed than amused. He dropped his hand from Pyro’s arm. 

“Sorry about that, Private.” His voice was low. “Sometimes I forget that you and the other kid aren’t battle hardened soldiers.”

Now Pyro was confused. Five years in the Gravel Wars and it wasn’t battle hardened? And had Solly just apologized? It hadn’t heard wrong, had it? Nope, that was an apology.

Pyro glanced at Solly through the lenses of its mask. The man’s profile was harsh in the light of the corridors and he seemed to be, once again, lost in thought. 

Finally, they made it through the silent base to the warehouse. Solly quickly located his crate, right where Pyro and Scout had left it. He looked around for a minute, then pulled a hand jack over to it. “You grab that end; I’ll grab this end.” He looked at Pyro. “We’re gonna sit this crate up on the forks and take it to the storage area. I need you to balance the crate, keep it from falling off.” Solly sighed. “Demo usually helps, but he is drunk right now. I can’t get him to wake up.” Solly grinned. “And you are here.” 

With a lot of heaving and muttered curses, they got the crate onto the platform of the forklift. It wobbled precariously for a moment, hanging off on both sides. Solly took the handles of the machine and began to pull. Pyro followed along behind, balancing the crate. 

They walked through a maze of corridors, finally stopping in front of a corrugated metal door. Solly took a key from his pocket and placed it into a lock, unlocking the door and sliding it upwards on its runners. Pyro shuddered. It made a sound like thunder. 

When the door reached its apex, Solly pulled the crate inside. They were in a large room, Pyro estimated it to be about fifty feet by fifty feet. There were neat stacks of crates arranged in floor to ceiling rows filling half the room. Solly pulled the crate to the end of one of the rows and the two men hoisted it off the wheeled platform and onto the ground. Solly spent a moment aligning it neatly with the other crates then turned back to Pyro. “Good work, Private. We’re all done here.”

Pyro stared at Solly, then at the rows of crates. There was no way it was leaving with this mystery unsolved. It pointed to the crate they’d just unloaded, then to all the other crates, making a questioning motion with its hands. 

Solly hesitated for a moment. “They’re all the same. I have enough rations here to support this team for six months. Pyro stared, dumbfounded by the lunacy of the man in front of it. Shaking its head in disbelief, it looked from the crates to Solly, then back to the crates. What in the hell was he thinking?

Solly sighed. “You think I’m crazy, right?”

Pyro nodded then stopped, watching Solly for signs of aggression. Calling him insane usually ended badly. Solly just chuckled. Walking over to a corner where several smaller crates were arranged close together, he sat on one, then motioned for Pyro to sit down. “Don’t worry, Private. I’m not gonna hurt you. This time.” He reached into his jacket and pulled a silver flask from a hidden pocket. Uncapping it, he took a swallow, then offered it to Pyro. Pyro sighed and, using its metal straw, took a sip from the flask. It was pleasantly surprised by the taste of bourbon when it had been expecting Demo’s rotgut. It took a longer pull from the straw then handed the flask back. 

Solly leaned his back against the wall and stared at the crates. A small contented grin curled up the corners of his mouth. 

“When I was in Poland,” he began, “I was near a small town on the northern borders called Tawecino. It was a pretty place, but cold.” Soldier shivered theatrically. “It was January when I arrived, and I found an abandoned cabin in the forest. It was a nice cabin, but you could tell that nobody had been there for ages. I started digging trenches and killing Nazis right away. It was hard work, Private. The snow was waist deep when I got there, and it snowed more every day. Before long, I was snowed in.”

Soldier shifted on his crate, redistributing his weight and taking another long pull from the flask. “I had heat, there was a pile of logs already split into firewood in a shed in back, but food was another matter. I carried about three weeks’ worth of rations with me and lived off the land and what people donated to me.” The way he said donated made Pyro wonder how voluntary those donations were. “But Tawecino was a little place, and I was about ten miles out, in the middle of the forest. I’d set up there because there was a German base nearby. I caught patrols out in the woods all the time, Private, and those patrols never made it back to their bases.” 

Soldier glanced down at the flask then blew his breath out harshly. Grabbing it, he took another deep drink before offering it to Pyro again. Pyro accepted gratefully and drank, then handed it back. Solly capped it and stuck it back in his jacket. “I was there for nearly two months.” Solly started to pull the flask out, then stopped himself. “The snow was so deep I couldn’t wade through it to get to Tawecino. It was just me and the woods. When the rations ran out, I trapped a few birds and found a nest of field mice inside a closet, but that was it.” He took a deep breath, then looked over at Pyro and quickly away. “I am not proud of what happened next. It had been three days since I’d found the mice and I was starving. I was downstairs in the kitchen, sleeping by the fire when a German soldier stumbled through the door. He’d been separated from his patrol the night before, during a snow squall. Saw the smoke from my fire and thought I was a Polish farmer, I guess. I shot him in the leg and disarmed him.” Solly chuckled darkly. “That was a hell of a fight. But I won. I had him hogtied by the fire and was ready to torture him for information. But I had to stop the bleeding first. So, I took the poker and heated it up in the fire. It was red hot when I cauterized his wound. There we were, me holding him down and him yowling like a cat that had it’s tail stepped on, and the only thing I could smell was bacon.” He glanced over at Pyro again. “You know that smell, don’t you?”

Pyro looked at Solly, surprised by the man’s perceptiveness. Slowly, it nodded.

“Needless to say, I was a little squeamish at first, but after another two days without any food, I got over it. I made it through the winter just fine after that. The Germans did not.” Solly grinned and clapped Pyro on the shoulder hard enough to unbalance it and cause it to sway on the crate. “Hell, I came out of those woods fatter than I went in.” He gestured with one hand at the crates. “I guess I got a little odd in the head after that though. I started getting really weird about food.” 

Pyro thought back to all the times Solly had screamed at Scout for being a picky eater, all the times he’d chewed out the team about waste. Suddenly it began to make sense. Pyro gestured at the crates and made an inquiring noise. 

“I would rather not eat my team.” Solly laughed. “And I’d rather my team not eat me. Not that it would ever come down to that, I think, but I’m not taking any chances.”

Pyro stared at the crates, absorbing what it had just been told. Solly’s grin suddenly seemed a bit to white, a bit too wide. Pyro shuddered. 

Solly stood up and looked down at Pyro, then held out a hand. “Here cupcake, I’ll help you up.” Pyro took the offered hand and Solly heaved it to its feet without any effort. “There you go.” He dusted Pyro down, making him presentable. “We shall run some laps before breakfast.” 

Pyro grimaced at the thought but followed Solly anyway. With any luck, Pyro thought, Engie would make pancakes.


	7. Heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Pyro whimpered and tossed its sheets aside, legs scissoring across the mattress. Behind its closed eyelids, it ran, fleeing the monster that was always waiting just there, in the darkness. The Beast growled and gave chase. Pyro flitted from tree to tree, a sprite made of fire, orange lighting the darkness for a few steps before being absorbed by the night. The brightly burning flames that were its hands dimming and flaring with each heartbeat. There was no where to hide, the flames gave it away. It could not run fast enough; the Beast was faster. Pyro choked back tears, knowing the Beast was closing in on it. It darted to the left, but the thing was there, a glimpse of a coal black body shifting in the moonlight. Pyro couldn’t think, the fear was clouding its mind. Its breath came in sharply panting gasps, feeling like razors were in its throat with each exhale. A thin keening sound surrounded it. Pyro listened to the sound, then realized that it was making that haunting noise. It turned deeper into the forest, running faster, its flames unfurling behind it like a banner. The Beast herded it, razor sharp fangs of white bone nipping at its heels, turning it this way and that, but never wounding it enough to end this horrid race. Pyro ran faster, too fast to stop when the cliffs edge loomed in front of it. Pyro flew. The flames that were its being stretched like a meteor’s tail behind it, a blazing glory of light reflected back at it as it approached the ground. A lake, not ground, some small corner of Pyro’s fear addled brain managed just as it hit the surface, water geysering upward like a fountain. Pyro’s body went dark, flames doused by the black liquid surrounding it. Water flooded its mouth and nose, bubbles flowed toward the surface as it sucked water deep into its lungs. It could not scream, but it tried. 

Heavy carefully marked his page and lay his book on the table by his bed. It was a good book, but he’d just heard a muffled scream. It sounded very close. Heavy sighed and stood. He smoothed a hand over his t shirt and sleep pants, unconsciously sweeping away nonexistent crumbs. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he stepped into the hallway and knocked on Pyro’s door. The screaming was louder now. “Pyro?” His voice was a rock dropped into the stillness of the base. Rippling echoes sounded off the walls, distorting before returning to his ears. He knocked harder, then reached for the doorknob. Surprisingly, it turned under his hand. 

Pyro was a very private thing, Heavy thought to himself, but he would risk its wrath by entering its room. It was obviously in distress from the sounds. The door swung open and Heavy stepped inside. Pyro’s room was barren. A bed, a dresser, missing leg replaced with a brick, a chair by the window. Dark scorch marks marred the dingy white of the walls. Heavy noted all this peripherally as he stepped closer to the thrashing figure on the bed. He paused for a moment, struck by the incongruity of what he was seeing. The pyro was wearing a thin cotton mask, skintight like Spy’s balaclava, gloves and socks of the same material, and furry pajamas with kittens all over them. Heavy frowned at the incongruity, then leaned forward as another strangled scream ripped from the little things throat. 

Carefully, Heavy touched its shoulder. “It is too bony,” was Heavy’s first impression as his fingers met the things unsuited flesh. Heavy kept his voice calm, soft almost. “Pyro, Pyro, wake up. Is me, Heavy Weapons Guy.” Heavy used his whole title, hoping that Pyro wasn’t going to attack him in its sleep. With any luck, the name would filter into its unconscious mind. “Wake up, Pyro, you are having dream.” Heavy’s hand engulfed the sleeping figures shoulder and he shook it gently. 

Pyro surged upward like a scalded cat; hands hooked into claws as it grabbed onto Heavy’s arms. Heavy was surprised by the strength in the little things’ fingers. He pulled back, but the Pyro did not let go. Heavy stopped resisting, leaning forward and resting his hands on the Pyro’s shoulders again. “Is okay, little Pyro. You were having dream. Screaming in sleep. I wake you.” 

Pyro tried to focus on Heavy, grey eyes wide and fearful, pupils dilated fully. Suddenly, it released his arms and, curling in around itself protectively, weeping piteously. Heavy shifted from foot to foot, unsure how to comfort it. He reached out tentatively, patting Pyro’s head, but the sobbing did not even slow. Heavy swallowed hard. The sounds coming from the tiny thing were heartbreaking. Unsure how else to comfort it, Heavy decided to treat the mercenary just as he would have treated one of his sisters. 

Heavy leaned down and scooped the Pyro, fear sweated sheets and all, up into its arms. The little thing stiffened, a squeak of distress coming from it. “Hush.” Heavy’s gravel voice was tender, soothing. “You sleep with Heavy tonight. I will not let monsters get you.” 

Heavy was not expecting the Pyro’s wiry arms to wrap around his neck, nor for it to bury its face in his chest like a child seeking refuge, but he did not pause to think. He simply carried it to his room and lay it down on the bed. “Move over, little thing.” Heavy made a shooing motion with his hand. “I must have room also.” Pyro, its wails subsiding to whimpering gasps, scooted over. Heavy lay on his side, facing Pyro. “Come here, little thing. I hold you. Keep you safe.” 

The Pyro, common sense fighting the overwhelming terror from the nightmare, hesitated. Heavy chuckled. “You smart little thing. Wonder what Heavy is after?” The creature in his bed nodded slowly. 

“I have three little sisters. They all have nightmares. Tonight, you will be like little sister to Heavy. Sleep close, stay warm. I keep nightmares away.” Heavy sighed. “That is all. Nothing more.” He opened his arms again and the Pyro slowly scooted closer, snuggling into his warmth. Heavy breathed deeply and wrapped his arms around it. He could feel its entire body shivering. Heavy held it closer, humming softly. Gradually the shivers began to slow, and the snuffling tears stopped. Heavy lay silently now, one hand stroking slow circles on the things back, remembering his sisters and the nights he would hold them, singing and caressing their little heads until they fell asleep again. The warmth of the bed and the soft rhythmic breathing of the pyro lulled him. He yawned, eyelids drooping closed. 

A commingled miasma of poverty, despair, and cooked cabbage permeated Heavy’s dreaming mind. He curled under the rough woolen blanket of his childhood bed, three smaller bodies huddled near him, creating the only warmth in the unheated room. From his parent’s bedroom, his father’s big gruff voice boomed in anger. Ten-year-old Misha’s arms prickled in foreboding, knowing what was to come next. 

“Cука, ты не слушаешь..” He trembled at the sound of a slap and his mother’s cry. “This is your fault!” There followed a quick succession of meaty sounds, fists meeting flesh, and then loud grunting from his father, quiet sobs from his mother.

Eight-year-old Yanna, closest to him in age, stirred and opened her eyes. “They are fighting again,” she whispered, lower lip trembling. “Why this time?” Misha shrugged despondently. “Why do they ever fight, Yanna? There is no reason for it.” He sighed. “When I am bigger, I will end this fighting.” He began to hum softly, the humming morphing into a lullaby, drowning out the noises from his parents’ room. His sister fell back to sleep, but he lay awake for a long time, alone with his thoughts. In the morning, his father would go to work at the factory, and he would be left to cook breakfast for his sisters and get them started on their chores. Then, and only then, he would look in on his mother, tend her wounds and hold her while she cried. 

Suddenly, the dream morphed. The rough blanket was pulled from the bed and Misha and his sisters were dumped onto the floor as their drunken father overturned the bed with all of them in it. “Lazy children!” He screamed, vodka fumes mixing with the terror in the small house as he strode into their sprawled midst, kicking out at them randomly. Zhanna and Bronislava, the youngest, began to wail as his heavy boots met their fragile bodies. He grabbed Yanna by the hair, holding her up to dangle in front of him, her hands frantically wrapping around his wrists, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her scalp. 

“I should sell you.” He spat in her face. “I could maybe get a bottle of good vodka for you.” Disgusted, he dropped the child back onto the floor, then looked to where his son stood, fists balled tightly at his sides. “And you, Misha, you big lumbering idiot. You think you protect these girls? You want to fight me maybe?” His father balled up his fist and punched Mischa in the stomach. Misha folded over, trying not to vomit. His father grabbed his shoulder and pulled him upright again. “Girls are good for one thing only, Misha. You need to learn this.”

Another punch, this one to Misha’s nose, causing hot red blood to spray across the room. “You are weak. Run and hide coward. You cannot fight me.” Misha’s father casually tossed the boy across the room then reached down again, grabbing Yanna’s nightgown and pulling her to her feet. “Come, we will go to bar, I will come back with vodka and one less mouth to feed.” 

Misha stood slowly, shaking off the dizziness that wanted to overwhelm him. Lowering his head like a bull, Misha charged full force into his father’s stomach. The huge man dropped Yanna, surprised by the attack, staggering backwards across the room. Misha screamed at his sisters. “Run. Run and hide!” He watched the three of them scatter as his father loomed over him. After that, there was nothing but pain, pain and darkness. 

Heavy was woken by the feel of small hands fluttering over him. He stirred for a moment, still lost in the dream. “Zhanna, stop it… Not time for getting up yet.” He opened his eyes and took a deep breath, awareness flooding back into his mind. The Pyro, still shrouded in its white cotton and kitty pajamas, was rubbing his shoulders, trying wordlessly to wake him. “маленький.” The switch from Russian to English was difficult upon first waking. “You are not only one with nightmares.” 

Heavy sighed and sat up, planting his feet firmly on the floor. He walked across the room to his desk and pulled out the bottle of vodka he had hidden there. Sitting on the bed again, back propped against the headboard, he uncapped the bottle and took a deep pull from it. He blew out a breath tinged with alcohol and glanced at the Pyro. He was amused to see that it was attempting to imitate his back against the headboard position. It struck him suddenly how much he missed his sisters. Heavy handed the bottle over, eyes widening a bit as it gulped from the bottle. Heavy chuckled as the Pyro began swallowing hard, trying to keep the liquid in its belly.

“Little thing, if you drink too much and sick in my bed, Heavy will be very angry.” He laughed. “Must treat Vodka with respect. Like woman. Must treat woman with respect.” Heavy sighed, the words taking him back to his dream. “Not like something to beat on. Or to trade for drink.” 

Pyro tilted its head to the side, its look puzzled. Heavy glanced at it and shook his head again. “Do not worry. Heavy had bad dream is all. Is in past, and past cannot hurt us now.” 

Pyro sighed deeply and put its hand on Heavy’s arm, the vodka hitting its system like a freight train, emboldening it. 

Heavy sighed, engulfed Pyro’s hand in his own and looked at the floor. “I tell you secret, Pyro. Sometimes we talk about past when it haunts us, it goes away. Not forever, but for a little while. You understand, da?” 

Pyro nodded, staring down at the huge hand wrapped around its own. Gingerly, it turned its hand over, gripping Heavy’s palm to palm. The two sat like that for a moment, hands clenching together, staring out into the darkness beyond the lamps dim glow. Finally, Heavy broke the silence, his words dropping into the stillness like stones in a well.

“My father, he was not good man. Father was drunk, no good, no work. Did not take care of family. He would come home from bars, beat mother for little things. All my life, I fear this man. He is loud, full with hate. Everything is some one else’s fault. Life in Russia is hard without this. My mother, she works for others, works in gardens, works for state. Works at home. We eat, but never enough. And he comes home, takes her money, goes to bars. Comes back drunk, beats her, beats us, his children. But when I am ten, he has idea. Sell Yanna. She is 8, little girl, very skinny. But with big smile always. Beautiful smile for me, for our mother, for sisters. Even big smiles for our father, that bastard.”

“I protect my sisters. Is first time I ever fight.” Heavy snorted. “Fight, hah! Is like little Scout against Heavy. No fight.” Heavy shook his head. “But, my sisters, they hide from him. After he beat me, not finding them. They hide good. Mother is no help. She is beaten bloody in his room. My sisters, they hide with pigs. Under the hay. Stay there all night, while he is searching for them. Yelling he is going to kill us all if they do not come out. And finally, he passes out. Too much vodka.” 

I wake up next day and Yanna, she has no smile. Not for anyone will she smile. Too scared to smile. I miss her smile. I must protect them, keep them safe from this man. But I am boy. How?” Heavy rubbed his big head with his hand, his palm scraping across the stubble of his scalp with a dry rasp. “I think hard. You see, Heavy is not dumb. Maybe not smartest guy ever, but not dumb.” 

“So, next day, when I can sit up again, I think harder than ever. What is ten year old boy to do about this? How to protect family? How to protect sisters? And I have idea. I will go to NKDV. You see, little thing, Russia was scary place. Stalin was purging the country. Everybody inform on everybody. People go to gulag, never return. I have plan. I tell on my father, he go to gulag. Problem solved.” Heavy chuckled, a dry humorless sound. “I was,” Heavy paused, trying to remember the word, “наивный. I think all problems go away after this, family is happy, no more bad father.” 

Pyro patted their clasped hands with its free one, trying to offer comfort.

“So, I go to secret police, I turn my father in. Tell them he is saying Stalin is pig. Tell them he is not doing job, sneaking off to be lazy. Secret police, NKDV, pick him up. Take him to cell. Interrogate him. Tell him, son says you do this, you do that. He is vengeful man. He says “Yes. I do this, but not just me. My family does this too. Go to house, look in can over breadbox. My wife hides money there. Look under floorboards, she hides grain there.” Father does not say, “Wife is trying to keep family from starving. Just, “Look here, look there.” 

And so they come to our house, they look. They find what evil man says they will find. Mother goes to trial; I go to trial. My sisters go to trial.” Heavy stretched, taking another drink from the bottle. “Father, he goes to trial, gets firing squad for subversion. My family, sent to gulag. Work farm in Siberia. Is death sentence for us all. Children die quickly in gulag.” 

Heavy stared at the smooth concrete wall at the foot of the bed, but his eyes were focused on the past. “My mother, she take prison husband while in gulag. A big man, Oleg. He share his rations with her, she...” Heavy took a deep breath, “She do things for him. Then she share food with us. Was hard life, but not bad sometimes.” He chuckled warmly. “I was big, even then. Oleg, he start to teach me things. How to fight, how to survive. How to protect sisters and mother. He was good man.” Heavy’s voice warmed at the memory. “He teach me things father should have been teaching. And he tell me, “Misha, will not always be like this. One day, we live someplace warm, fight all day like real men, drink vodka all night, like real men. Not this work, work, work. Oleg, he teach me about books too. How to read, how to write. He tell us stories he learned from books. And my sisters love him. Hell, I love him. He was like father to me. But one day, guards come for him. He is marched into woods and never comes back.”

“I know then, I have to get out of gulag. Or one day, they come for me. I will be one marched into woods, never coming back. I will be one laying in shallow grave they force me to dig before shooting me. So, I plan. I watch and I think. And when chance comes, I take it. I kill guards. I free other workers. I take mother and sisters and we hide. I am thirteen at time. We hide in woods, go deep into mountains. Walking all the time. Hiding, always hiding.” 

Heavy glanced at the Pyro as a chill traveled through its slight frame. He pulled his hand loose from its hand and wrapped his arm around it, pulling it closer to him. “You are tiny thing. Stay warm, drink more vodka.” He pulled the blankets around them both and passed Pyro the bottle again. “Better?” When Pyro nodded, Heavy grinned. “Good thing. Make you Russian yet.” 

Heavy picked up the tale where he had left off. “We find place in mountains to hide. Far to north. Very cold there, little thing.” He laughed heartily. “Not like this. This is hot compared to Russia. We build cabin there, learn to hunt. Learn to wrestle bears for food and pelts. We survive. And no one beats us ever again. But,” he paused, voice sad for a moment, “we miss living. We miss warm places and good food. So, I take what Oleg taught me, I work. I work for many different people. And now, I work here.” 

He hugged Pyro closer. “Is not so bad here. Oleg was right. Fight like man all day, drink like man all night. Someplace warm, da?” He paused. “I send money to family. They live good. But still hiding. I would like them to see America.” He stared into the distance again, imagining his mother and sisters in a house in America. “Maybe someday, little thing. Then I take you with me, you meet Misha’s family, yes?” 

He laughed as Pyro nodded enthusiastically. “But until then, we sleep, da? No more bad dreams. No more vodka in middle of night. Just sleep.” 

Heavy laughed and pulled the Pyro down in the bed, wrapping his body around it. Pyro struggled briefly, then lay still. There was no moving the Heavy. When they slept this time, there were no dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Маленький little one  
“Cука, ты не слушаешь Bitch, you’re not listening.  
Наивный naive


	8. Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Spy, chin cupped in his hand, stared into the crackling flames of his personal fireplace. Today was not a good day, he thought to himself. Usually, he was able to deal with his past, put it aside and concentrate only on the day, the mission, the intelligence that he was tasked with stealing. But today, he saw glimpses of Nicole wherever he turned. Medic’s eyes reminded him of her own warm blue orbs, brighter than sapphires. The sun shining down reminded him of her long golden hair, so soft when his hand stroked over it, warm and smelling of strawberries. He saw her curves in the graceful arches of rock near the base, heard her voice in the sighing wind. Spy shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory of his first love. 

The end table by his chair held the items he would need today. His balisong, blade sharpened to a razor’s edge, a small bowl heaping over with salt, and a glass of single malt rye whiskey. With a sigh, Spy removed his Invisiwatch and laid it on the end table. For the moment, he would not need the cloaking features of the expensive piece of technology. 

Spy stood from his chair, stepping in front of the full-length mirror in a dark wooden frame at the end of the room. Slowly, almost ritualistically, he unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, folding it neatly and sitting it to the side. He stared at himself in the mirror. Scars crisscrossed his torso, the lean planes of his chest marred by the thin silver lines. He turned to the side, arms raised over his head and looked at the way they wrapped his body. He groaned faintly. “They are like an embrace of steel.” The thought fell from his lips quietly, barely a whisper in the stillness.

Spy picked up the balisong and flipped it open, the metallic click clack soothing to his ears. Tonight, he would find peace from her. Drawing a thin line down his chest with the blade, he watched as the bright red blood welled up along the edges of the cut. The pain began to register in his mind, a bright piercing lick of flame along the edges of the wound. Spy hissed in a breath, then cut himself again. And again and again. Over and over, the bright blade flicked along his skin, releasing his pain, allowing his overwhelmed mind to focus and process. He groaned, needing more. 

Laying the knife on the table, he pinched a bit of salt from the bowl. Slowly, watching the grains fall from his fingertips like snow, he sprinkled the salt into the lacerations marring his skin. As each granule fell into the open lip of a wound, Spy hissed. The slow burn was spreading, the pain inching up another notch. Eventually, all the salt was gone. Spy’s body was trembling, his hands shaking as the pain washed over him in waves. Reaching for the whiskey, he took a sip.  
The liquor slid down his throat with a smooth burn, landing in his stomach like a coal. Taking a deep breath and holding it, Spy poured the rest of the drink over his mangled and bloody chest. As the whiskey soaked into his wounds, Spy’s gloved hand flew to his mouth, he bit down hard on the fatty edge of his palm, muffling his scream. Tears flowed down his cheeks and he fell to his knees, hunching about himself, in agony. Drawing in a deep breath, Spy began to sob. 

Spy curled up in his chair, wrapped in a warm and fluffy bathrobe, bare feet tucked under himself. He felt renewed, refreshed. The storm of emotion had swept through him like a hurricane and left him empty inside. Spy took a deep, shuddering breath and swirled the sherry in his glass, sipping, letting the warmth coat the inside of his mouth and throat. He sighed in relief. When the quiet knock sounded at his door, he nearly dropped the glass. Spy cursed softly. “Who on earth?” he thought to himself.

Rising slowly, careful of his wounds, he walked to the door. “Who is there?” He kept his voice soft, not wanting to be disturbed, but knowing that he could not hide in his rooms forever. Besides, he thought, it was most likely someone with a stupid request to play cards or watch tv, something easy to turn away. 

“Mmmffref. Sssswhrawerw!” 

Spy frowned. What could Pyro want at this time of evening? The masked creature should be firmly ensconced on the floor of the rec room, reading comics with Scout as the others played yet another hand in the endless game of poker that occupied their spare time. With a graceful shrug, Spy opened the door. “Hello, Pyro. What can I do for you?” The lightly accented words fell onto the ears of a small figure, its arms wrapped around itself, hunched over to make itself appear smaller. Pyro tilted its masked features upward, its posture expressing forlorn longing and pointed around Spy to his fireplace.

“You wish to sit by my fire?” Spy stepped away from the door, allowing the being to see into the room. Someone must have upset it. Pyro occasionally came to his rooms when it was stressed, seeking the soothing balm of his fireplace. Spy sighed but could not turn it away. He knew too well how it felt to need solace. He nodded once, giving it permission to enter. 

Pyro slipped past Spy, leaving him to wonder how such a clumsy looking thing could move so gracefully when the need arose. The outfit and those enormous boots should have weighed it down, but he had witnessed more than once it’s ability to stealth its way across enemy lines, taking them by surprise. 

He walked back to his overstuffed armchair and settled in as the Pyro dropped to the woven rug in front of the fire, its focus completely on the flames. It rocked slowly back and forth; arms wrapped tightly around its knees. Spy glanced at it briefly to be certain it was settled, then returned to his melancholy contemplation of his past regrets. He was too lost in thought to notice when the Pyro stirred out of its defensive ball and began to look around. He did not notice when the Pyro reached to the side of the rug, gloved fingers sweeping across the floor, mask turning to contemplate the Spy staring into his sherry glass. 

Pyro stood and walked over to Spy, holding out his hand, the fingertips stained with blood. “Wrmphrer?” 

Spy, jerked out of his reverie, stared at the bloody fingers thrust under his nose. He glanced up at Pyro, then back at those damning drops of blood smeared across the soot blackened glove of his friend. Spy thought briefly of lying, but then realized that no lie he told would be believable. He sighed. “I cut myself. I was playing with a new knife and my hand slipped.” There, not quite a lie, but not exactly the truth either. Spy had found that, when a lie contained the element of truth, it was often much more believable. “I must have missed some while I was cleaning up.” 

The Pyro looked at him, blank lenses unnerving. He could not tell if the creature believed him or not. He was used to reading body language, but Pyro’s body and face were obscured. That made the task doubly hard. Plus, the Pyro’s silence encouraged one to fill it. Spy bit his lip, fighting the urge to fill the void of silence between them. 

The Pyro reached out slowly, blood stained fingers hooking around the collar of Spy’s robe. Spy felt disconnected. He knew what was going to happen next, and he could not move, was not certain if he wanted to move. Slowly, so slowly, Pyro’s crooked finger pulled the robe aside. Spy shivered. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered, “He will see.” Much of his mind shouted back, “Let him see!” Spy’s eyes widened a bit, a feeling of inevitability falling over him. One of his hands was going to the belt of his robe and loosening it. With a shrug of his shoulders, the robe slipped off and pooled around his waist. Pyro’s hands flew away in surprise and it stumbled back several steps, exclaiming loudly. 

Spy’s lips curled up in a flirtatious smile. “Well, Pyro, is this what you were expecting?” His mouth hardened, lips and brows pulling down in a tight line. “Or maybe no? Maybe our resident lunatic is even now thinking “Oh, this one is crazier than I!” Spy’s voice dripped sarcasm. “And now is the time when you say, “Oh, dear, Spy! Let us help you! Let us make this better for you!” Well, so that you know, there is nothing that you can do to help. Nothing the others can do for me.” He wrapped his arms around his body, hiding the wounds. “Except, perhaps, to leave me alone.” He turned from Pyro, hunching his shoulders forward and wrapping his arms tighter around himself. 

Pyro watched the graceful curve of the other man’s spine as he turned away. The damage it had glimpsed under the robe was extensive. It thought hard for a moment, should it go? What would happen if it ignored this? Slowly, tentatively, Pyro reached out and laid a gentle hand on Spy’s shoulder. The man was shaking like a leaf. Gingerly, Pyro stepped closer, his arms wrapping around Spy, sheltering him. He fully expected the proud man to attack him, but it had to make the attempt. Spy froze in the circle of Pyro’s arms. A sob racked his thin shoulders and then another and another. Pyro cooed soothingly as Spy wept in its arms. 

At last, the weeping ended, and Spy turned to face Pyro. “Please, Pyro, you must not tell anyone.” Spy’s voice was hoarse, his throat raw with emotion. “The others would not understand, they would try to interfere and just make things worse.” Spy’s hands fell onto Pyro’s shoulders. “You understand, don’t you? Please, Pyro, please. Our secret.” Spy searched Pyro’s mask for some sign of understanding. At last, the Pyro raised its hand, little finger crooked out to the side. 

“Pinkie Promise?” Spy frowned, hooking his finger around the Pyro’s at its nodded agreement. It looked at Spy, body overemoting confusion and distress. 

Spy sighed. “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” He pointed to the chair beside his. “Sit, I wish to clean my face and get us a drink. Then I shall return, and we will discuss this.” 

In the small bathroom attached to his rooms, Spy, after making sure the door was securely locked, removed his balaclava. He looked in the mirror, barely recognizing the face staring back at him. His eyes were raw with weeping, his nose red, his hair mussed and sweaty. With a sigh of profound weariness, he reached for a washcloth. Wetting it, he glanced at the newspaper clipping pinned to the side of the mirror. It was in French, a death notice from last Tuesday’s edition of Le Monde, the daily newspaper he received from Paris. The man in the photo was older, gray haired, with the same patrician nose and blue eyes as Spy. “Well, Father. Now that you are dead, what am I supposed to do with these secrets? I have kept them for so many years and, truthfully, I am exhausted. They weigh me down, Father. We could have been so different, a family. Instead, you chose to make my life a hell. I have a new family now, one that will not punish me for being human. I am the end of your line, Father, and honestly, I cannot say I regret that. Our family has been tainted from the beginning. There are too many secrets. One man cannot hold them all. I am done with this, Father. It is enough.” Spy finished washing his face and straightened his back. It was time to unburden himself, if just a bit.

Pyro sat gingerly in the velvet upholstered wing chair that he had been directed to. Leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle, he waited patiently. Spy was gone for quite a while. When he returned, the man seemed much more self-possessed, more like the Spy that Pyro was used to seeing daily. The slim man walked to a shelf on the far wall and took down a clean glass. Filling it with sherry, he handed it to Pyro before seating himself in the worn chair that was his favorite. 

“I started training to be a spy when I was just a child. You could say that this was my family business. I was a precocious child and my father saw a great deal of potential in me. He pulled me aside when I was just six and taught me to control my emotions. Taught me to control the expressions on my face, my body language.” Spy stared down into his glass, remembering those times. His father had been a hard man, and an exacting taskmaster. The lessons were grueling. His mind flitted back to being dressed in a beggars clothing, sent into the street and told “Make this man believe that you are poor. Stop him for a moment and tell him a story.” The man had been snatched in the middle of the story and taken elsewhere to be tortured and eventually killed. It had been Spy’s first joint mission. He’d always felt bad for the man, whose kindness had been his downfall. 

Spy shook his head, not wanting to share that memory with Pyro. Once again, Nicole flitted on the edge of his thoughts, haunting him. Spy knew exactly which memory to share. 

“When I was a young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, I was at a fete my father was throwing. I was to ‘bump into’ a girl who was attending also. Her father was a high ranking official in the nearby German Embassy. I danced and drank with the other young people at the party, enjoying myself, waiting for her to arrive.” 

“When she finally came through the door, I was dazzled. She was the loveliest creature I have ever seen. Her eyes, her hair, the gown she wore, all combining to create a spun glass confection of beauty and purity the like of which rivaled the Greek goddesses. I wasted no time in introducing myself to her.”

Spy’s thin lips curved upward in a smile, his eyes lighting up. “It was like a dream. I walked over to her and said “Hello, my lovely Nicole. I am Jean. She smiled at me, and it was like the clouds had cleared from the sky.”

“Hello, Jean. I’m very pleased to meet you. How are you enjoying the party?” Her voice was lovely, soft and feminine, and yet with a current of humor under it that made me want to know her better. Of course, I told her that the party was dull, but the gardens were lovely under the moonlight and I invited her outside with me. We sat on a small stone bench under a lilac tree for hours, speaking of nothing and everything. At the end of the night, when it was time for her to go home, she leaned over, kissed my cheek, and asked if I would care to go dancing with her the following week. I immediately said yes!”

“My father, when he debriefed me later, was ecstatic. This was exactly what he was hoping for, a close relationship between myself and Nicole. I was not so happy though. Doing this made me feel dirty, as though I were lying to her. Perhaps it was because she was female, perhaps because we were close to the same age. Or perhaps I felt so bad about this because I knew that she was innocent, a pawn in a game between two powerful men. My father told me to stop worrying about it and woo the girl. And I did.” 

“We went dancing and then to a late dinner at a small intimate restaurant that my father knew. She was entranced. I was young, handsome, rich, and very French. What was not to like? However, I was beginning to feel as entranced with her as she was with me.”

“The summer passed in a haze of activity. Dancing, hiking, sightseeing, restaurants, clubs, we were in the midst of the activity. A social gathering was not complete if we were not there. We were inseparable. She was the first woman I ever loved. And I did love her, wholly and completely. And she returned my love. It was as though she were my other half, without her, I was not complete.” Spy sighed, his eyes drifting to the fire and he fell silent. Pyro sat quietly, following his gaze. Eventually, Spy stood and refilled his glass, then topped off Pyro’s half empty one. Settling into his chair again, he took a cigarette from its case and rolled it between his fingers for a moment before lighting it and inhaling deeply. The smoke drifted toward the ceiling and Spy returned to his story. 

“When the fall came, she and I spoke of marriage. I thought that perhaps I could leave the lifestyle I was being groomed for, take a job as a government official. She could work as a secretary. Between us, we would survive. I was so damned naïve, Pyro.” He leaned his head back against his chair, breathing in deeply to steady himself. “I went to my father with these dreams and he laughed at me. He told me that would never happen. Her father had taken a stand on the issues of state he’d been told not to espouse. And thus, it was time to make use of the relationship I had cultivated with his daughter.”

“I did not want to do this, but he was adamant. We argued back and forth for days. In the end, he threatened to both her life and mine. He explained to me in no uncertain terms that I would do as told or there was no place on earth I could hide from him. I knew that he was right. I had neither the skills nor the contacts to outwit him. Reluctantly, I gave in.”

“Only then would he tell me his plan. We were to run away together, go to Ajaccio, a small town on the sea. We were to stay at the hotel there, and I was to keep her far from newspapers or radios that might report the news of her “kidnapping.” In the meantime, he would speak with the father, using his daughters safe return as a bargaining chip for the political gains that he wished to see. And, damn me, Pyro, I did as he wished.” 

Spy shifted uneasily in his chair. “I told her that we were running away, a mini vacation if you like. She was so happy. This was proof in her eyes that I wanted to be with her. And I did want to be with her. But I could not go against my father in this. And I kept telling myself, what sort of father would allow something to happen to his daughter, would not capitulate to keep her safe. I lied to myself so well when I was younger.”

“The next week was like something out of a dream. We were so happy in our little hotel by the sea. Every morning we would get up, make love, eat breakfast, then swim or lay on the beach ‘til lunchtime. After, we would shop or hike the trails around the village, until it was time to return to the hotel and make love again before sleep. She was beautiful. In the clean air of the countryside, her cheeks bloomed with roses and her eyes were the color of the sky. It was perfect. But then my father contacted me.”

“He had been speaking with her father. The man was stubborn and refused to make any concessions on the trade agreement. He sent a man to the village, to pull me aside one morning. I still remember that morning. It was a Sunday. The sky was a clear blue with small clouds floating in it, the church bells were pealing across the meadows. My father’s man pulled me away from breakfast, filled me in on the situation. Finally, he spoke those words I had been dreading. “Kill her.” He said. “Make it obvious. Your father wishes to know where your loyalties lie. This is to be your test, your rite of passage if you will, into adulthood.”

I was crushed. I had so hoped that her father would give in. I turned from the man and returned to our rooms. Nicolle was lying, nude, draped across our bed, her long hair streaming out from her head like water. I removed my clothing and lay down beside her. “I love you.” I said. I gazed into her eyes, my hands roaming her body and we made love. Then,” Spy’s voice became choked, “I stabbed her.”

He looked down at his hands. “I stabbed her in the heart, as I had been trained to do. The blood was everywhere. All over my hands, my body…” His voice trailed off and Pyro reached out to pat his hand. “I loved her so much, Pyro, but I was a coward. I could not say ‘No’ to that monster who sired me.” 

Spy turned his head away, refusing to look at Pyro. “I showered and dressed, leaving her body there for the maids to find. I cleaned her up first, arranging her to look as though she were sleeping. It was the least I could do for her.” The mans shoulders shook as sobs overtook him. 

“I went home to my father and he gloated. Nicole’s father had given in on everything, days before he ordered me to kill her. He pretended not to notice when I locked myself in my room. But I saw the looks he gave me from the corners of his eye. He knew. He knew that I loved her. This was his way of controlling me. One more lesson to be learned.” Spy wiped at the corners of his eyes. 

“I left soon after. I worked for any country that would have me. I never allowed myself to become close to another. I built walls around myself, walls that I did not allow anyone past. And when Mann Co. offered me the chance to come to America, to fight in this idiotic war, I leapt at it. But I cannot get Nicole from my mind. And so, I punish myself, I cause myself pain to make up for the pain that I caused her.” He smiled sadly. “Over the years, I have paid back her pain a thousand times and a thousand times again. But I cannot stop. How else to remember her, Pyro? She was my first love and my first kill. She is the reason I am damned.” 

Pyro dropped its head, the story awakening a deep sorrow in its chest. Tentatively, it placed its hand over Spy’s. “Soorryy.” It enunciated clearly. Spy looked over, a sad smile on his lips. “It is fine, Pyro. I should not have burdened you with this. But, enough about me, who upset you tonight?” 

Spy leaned back in his chair, watching the Pyro’s storytelling, unsure if it was angry at Scout or Sniper, but moderately certain that it involved being covered in bodily fluids. His smile grew wider as he watched the Pyro act out its plan for revenge. For the moment, the memory of Nicole was far from his mind, and that was enough.


	9. Pyro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see from the tags, these guys are dealing with some pretty heavy trauma. If you are easily triggered, please just stop here. My mercs have some very large skeletons in their closets. Be aware, some of these chapters are fairly light, but the light chapters are few and far between. If you chose to continue, enjoy. Also, a huge huge thank you to DISTASTY, whose help and support has been invaluable during this whole process. Thanks for the advice, my friend!!! Also, comments and kudos are what keep me going, so please, feel free...

Pyro closed the door to its room and locked it. Making certain that the lock was engaged, it turned toward its bed and muttered to itself. Slowly, it pulled off the thick gloves and lay them on the floor. Stretching its hands out before itself, it turned them this way and that, marveling at the pale flesh covering its hands, the working of corded muscle and tendons under skin. Reaching behind its head, it hooked its fingers in the rubber at the neck of its mask, pulling up and over its head, freeing itself from the constrictive piece of clothing. Pyro drew in a deep breath, unfiltered, smells assaulting its nostrils. The mask filtered out the odors unless they were particularly strong. Pyro’s nose wrinkled and it grinned, liking the feel. Next, sitting on the bed, the heavy boots were pushed off, then moved to sit beside each other. Socks, a necessity with boots that thick and rigid, came off after. Finally, its hands moved to the fasteners of its suit. It took a deep breath, not wanting to lose its nerve until its task was complete, began to unfasten them. The suit loosened around it, then Pyro peeled out of it like a hermit crab shedding its old shell when it has grown too small. 

Pyro took a deep breath and gazed down at its body. It was naked. It glowed in the sunlight like a pearl, it thought, stroking hands over flesh that was hardly ever exposed to the sun. It held its arm up, marveling at the tiny hairs there and the way they glowed pale silver in the beam of light. It flopped back onto its bed, staring up at the ceiling. The urge to burrow into its nest of pillows and blankets, sleep completely exposed to the world was difficult to resist. Pyro loved naps. But there would be time for napping later, it thought. 

Slowly, luxuriating in the feel of skin against clean cotton sheets, Pyro rolled over. It could not stop the giggle that escaped its lips, the tickle of its alabaster hair on its neck was delightful. Pyro reached up with one hand and pushed the curly locks out of its face. Soon it would be time to cut them again, then burn the cuttings in a small bowl so no one would ever see. Probably do finger and toenails at the same time, burn them all together. Heavy, next door, would complain about the smell but he would not interfere. 

Pyro reached for the bag strapped to its suit and pulled open the zipper. Reaching inside, it pulled out a small package wrapped in waxed paper. The small round wafers within were so important, it thought, carefully lining them up on the dresser. Over the past few weeks, Pyro had stalked its teammates on the battlefield, managing to lay a wafer on each of them in that brief instant between death and the body being reclaimed by respawn. All without being seen, which was the most important thing. Its team was willing to overlook certain eccentricities, but putting cookies on dead bodies might be a bit much, even for them. They did not understand. 

Pyro lined the thin wafers up in a row, from lightest to darkest. Medic first, a pale tan, and then Sniper, a bit darker, but still tan, all the way down the line to Engie, whose wafer was black as pitch. No one would ever believe that the wafers had been snow white when first laid on the corpses. Pyro sighed deeply, studying them. Its team, its friends. Their secrets lay before it, weighed on it. 

Pyro closed its eyes, cleared its mind. It heard its Grandmother’s voice, a conversation from many years ago. “Little one, my firefly,” her voice was raspy with age, soft as mothwings scraping against a screen door, “you’re special. There’s a fire in you, and fire purifies.”

A tear ran down Pyro’s cheek. It missed the woman. She had always been quick to defend it, to love it and praise it. The world was a darker place without her. Pyro let the tears flow unchecked. Its mind turned to its team and the tears flowed harder. The secrets they had told, each one so terrible, weighing on their souls like stones. Secret sins committed out of necessity in some cases, desperation in some, and purposefully and knowingly in others. The air filled Pyro’s lungs and flowed out again, its mind seeking that peaceful emptiness it would need in the next few hours. 

Behind its closed eyelids, it saw once again its grandmother’s funeral, the opened casket sitting on dark soil, snow falling all around, blanketing the earth in a muffled white veil. The red of holly berries peeked through the snow, and the green of holly leaves. A silver platter sat within the coffin, on her chest. On the platter, a thin wafer, much like the ones lined up before it now. Pyro, not Pyro then, but something else, reached for the wafer and laid it across its tongue, allowing it to melt there. The acrid taste of bile and vinegar, dripping from its tongue as her sins absorbed into its flesh, leaving her soul clean to move on. Not Yet Pyro opened its eyes, the poison of her sins flowing down its throat and into its stomach like ice. Her words in its ears again. “A fire within you. Fire purifies.” Not Yet Pyro gagged and retched, the old woman’s sins pouring back out of its mouth in a flood of light grey moths, their wings and feet and feelers tickling across its tongue, blocking off its lungs for a brief moment, panic at being unable to breathe, then falling to hands and knees in the dirt, clearing the last of the moths in a deep retching cough that burst blood vessels in its throat, leaving drops of bright blood spraying across the old woman’s face, now shrouded with snow. The lid was closed, cold hands helped it from the grave and dirt rained down on the last of its family. 

“Sin eater.” The whispered words followed it from its grandmother’s grave. “Sin eater.” When it went to town, the words a hushed accusation. People turned from it in the street, would not smile or look at it for fear of being contaminated. But, when one of their own died, they would send for Not Yet Pyro, seeking absolution for their loved one, no matter what the cost to the wretch tasked with swallowing the sins. Pyro groaned in pain at the memories. It had finally abandoned its task, moved out into the world, learned so many things, seen so much. And now it had found a home, a family to love once again. And they were suffering. Pyro did not know if it could absolve their sins. There were so many, and they were so dark. It shivered in fear, was this what its nightmare about the black beast meant? Was the beast what waited for it if it did this? But how could it not? To bring peace to its family, this was what it was meant to do, its bones ached with the knowing. 

Before fear could paralyze it completely, Pyro snatched up the first wafer, Medic’s, and laid the morsel on its tongue. It shivered, the bitterness coating its tongue like soap. Snatching the next one, Pyro swallowed it, then the next and the next until they all were gone. Pyro panted for breath, the feel of their sins like nightshade laid across its tongue, slicing down its throat in wave after wave of icy pain, like swallowing shards of glass. Pyro tried to scream as its soul began to dim. So much darkness, so much evil. It coughed and choked, vile blackness bubbling in its lungs. Dark tears dripped across its pale cheeks. Pyro fought to draw in each breath, wanting to live, not certain what would happen if it was submerged under the icy black waves of so much sin. It sank deeper and deeper, ears barely hearing Heavy’s rough voice, the banging on its door as he tried to break it down. Slowly, exhaustion swept over it. It sank beneath the ebony waters. 

Butterflies, rich black velvet wings fluttering, covered Pyro’s room, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, all a wavering black carpet of slow beating wings. The wings moved slower and slower, in time to Pyro’s heartbeat, then stopped. There was silence. 

The door to the room burst open just as respawn picked up Pyro’s body. Heavy strode inside, shouting in alarm as a cloud of butterflies swarmed about him and then out the open door. The rest of the team batted at the creatures, exclaiming in surprise about the insects and the icy chill inside Pyro’s room. But where was Pyro? Heavy, first in, shrugged, unsure if he’d seen the glow of the respawn technology or not for all the insects fluttering about when he had first entered. 

Deep in the cold concrete bowels of the base, incomprehensible machines thrummed and clanked. Pyro’s naked body appeared, stretched out on white tile under harsh lights. Slowly, its chest moved up and down, its heart beat once, then twice, then a third time, a ragged quaver in its thin chest. Its eyes fluttered open, no white visible, only darkness, the empty, eldritch darkness of the void between stars, the velvet blackness of butterfly wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!!! I want to thank every single one of you for having joined me in this story. What started as a bit of RP about Medic and Pyro has turned into a story that has taken us into some very dark places. When I started this, I had a plan to make the enemy spy the collector of the team's secrets. As you can see, that plan was quickly replaced by the desire to end this story with Pyro itself. I'll tell you a secret though, when Pyro took on the sins of his teammates and sank beneath the weight of them, I cried. Yeah, yeah, too invested in the story, I know... Anyway, I hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it!


	10. Pyro Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ART BY DISTASTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Distasty for the support and encouragement that you have shown during this work! Hugs my friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Nixuliium for taking pity on me and helping me post this after 3 weeks of my crazy incompetence and loud cursing. Love you, Nix!


	11. The Secrets Gang Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ART BY DISTASTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Distasty for making my vision come to life! Big hugs to you, my friend!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Nixuliium for taking pity on me and helping me post this after 3 weeks of my crazy incompetence and loud cursing. Love you, Nix!


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